Fight or Flight
by Gamemaker97
Summary: In the Hunger Games, there are no winners. There are only survivors. Life as a victor is never easy. There is always another struggle, another battle to be had, and Ludovic Robertson's troubles have only just begun. Can this young victor live up to the trials and expectations of the Capitol? A tale of poison, politics, passion, and pain.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I suppose that the first thing that I should mention to everyone is that this story is the third in a sequence of fanfics chronicling the tale of a young victor from District 4, whose journey begins in the fanfic _Second Time Unlucky_ and then continues into _Mentor_ before our young hero winds up here, at the beginning of book three. While most of the essential backstory for this fanfic will be explained in the first few chapters, I'd still recommend checking out those first two novels in order to get a more full understanding of the story.**

**Secondly, I would like to welcome back fans of the first two fanfics and fresh readers alike to _Fight or Flight_, and thank them for taking the time to click on this story and give it the time of day. For those of you who know my previous works, this story will be somewhat different from the first two titles, mostly in the sense that this story is going to be more of a passive journey than an active adventure, and that the layout will be less formulaic than the last. Chapters will come of varying lengths dependent on the situation, and there won't be any particular overriding plot, more several different things unravelling at once. Oh, and the twenty-seven chapter overview has been thrown completely out of the water. I'm expecting forty plus chapters for this one.**

**Of course, now I'm just dithering on, so I'd better shut up and just get straight to the point before I'm arrested for murder having killed someone from boredom due to this very long author's note.**

**I hope that you all enjoy the story :)**

* * *

**Part I - Life**

**Chapter One**

**PoV: Ludovic Robertson (17), Hunger Games Victor**

**District 4**

**11.00 am, Saturday 7th September, year of the 67th Hunger Games**

* * *

The sun glares up at me threateningly off the water, my hands instinctively raising to the side of my face to protect my eyes. The water's fairly placid today, but even the usual movements of the water leave me alternating between being blinded and the brief interludes, ones that give you so much false hope, that come in between.

Plus, it doesn't help that I'm on a boat in the middle of the sea. I can't say that the rocking is going to do me any good, exactly. At least, not in that sense.

I'm in the western bay in District 4, on the relatively untouched side of the peninsula where my district resides. All the fishing industry is based out of the Docklands, which are located in the district's poorer, eastern half.

From where I sit, out in a boat that actually belongs to my best friend's dad, all I can see is the nice part of the peninsula. The light house at the southern headland of the bay, a lone tower looking out into the endless sea. Mostly for the sake of our fishing crews who often stay our past dark in the wintertime, when the nights draw in. Moving north around the bay is Victors' village in the south-west, the twelve luxurious homes spared for the few lucky sods from District 4 who have entered the arena, the torturous environment where the Capitol holds its deadly Hunger Games, and made it out alive. Beyond that in the centre of the bay is the mile-long beach that backs on to the district's most affluent housing - discounting Victors' Village, of course. My parents' house is there. Or, more correctly, my dad's house is. It's been over a year since my mother died now.

Moving towards the north-west of the bay, the cliffs start to rise up and the woodland builds up along with it. I like the woods, a lot more than I like most of District 4, to be honest. And as districts go, we're not even that bad. Still, whenever I need time to think or just want to get away from it all for a while, the woods are my go-to place. Unfortunately, I've seen a whole lot more of them lately than I may have liked to.

At the very northernmost point of the bay, however, is what grabs my attention at the moment, where the rocky headland juts out from the woodland, fifty feet above the water. Luckily, it's a drop that's unimpeded by anything and the water is deep at the bottom, otherwise my friends would be in a very sticky situation around about now.

The expedition was led by Dylan Cresta, who seems to have replaced what he lacks in height with pure courage. The guy seemingly isn't afraid of anything. I mean, any day out in District 4 inevitably ends up involving the water - that's just the way things are around here. So when we got seven of us in a boat together and sailed off into the middle of the bay, we were prepared for something. Still, the moment Dylan suggested diving off the headland half of us were down to our swimming trunks in no time, diving from the boat into the deep blue waters of the bay, racing to be the first one to take the plunge.

It was a battle that, inevitably, Finnick won. Finnick Odair, aside from being my best friend, is probably the most famous fourteen-year-old in the history of Panem, being the youngest person to ever emerge victorious from the Hunger Games just over two years ago. His short-cut bronze hair, sea-green eyes and tanned body are debatedly the most recognisable thing in modern culture, such was the Capitol's fascination with the guy. They were all drooling over him before a single weapon had been raised. Of course they were all going to support him in the arena.

So, of course, it's no wonder that this amazing physical specimen would have the athletic prowess to swim across the bay faster than a bunch of other teenagers his own age. He'd give anyone a run for their money.

They've been out there for getting on half an hour now, but I can still see that the four of them a hundred metres off having fun. Dylan, Finnick, and two of our other friends from school called Brandon Mullery and Maria Keller. Brandon, your average guy in District 4, only with some brains behind him. Maria, just a good girl who's up for a laugh from time to time. And they're certainly managing that now.

Unfortunately, I'm kind of stuck where I am at the moment because there's no wind at all so the sails on Mr Odair's boat are completely useless, and with all the strong guys gone (by strong guys, I mean Brandon and Finnick), we're basically dead in the water. Which I suppose isn't too much of a bad thing. At least I don't have to worry about watching where we're going, simply because we're going nowhere.

Of course, I wasn't the only one of our expedition that didn't decide that throwing myself of fifty-foot cliffs was the best thing to do. Sitting in the boat with me is Dylan's twin sister Annie Cresta and her friend Katherine Wright. I won't pretend that I know either of them overly well, knowing Annie through her brother who I've known for seemingly forever, and Katherine's been another face in the crowd at school for years. They both seem nice enough when I get a chance to talk to them. They're good-looking girls, too, which always helps. They both have slender builds, probably my height or a couple of inches taller (I have never been anything but short). Annie has long, wavy dark brown hair that runs way past her shoulders like my sister's used to, and has the same vivid green eyes as her brother. Katherine, who is slightly taller, has bullet-straight blonde hair that trails half way down her back, and blue eyes similar to my own. Actually, apart from the difference in hair length (my own mop of blond hair stops way before my shoulders), we don't look that far apart.

Getting fed up of watching the guys fall about up at the headland, I lie back on the seats of our small boat, staring up at the near-cloudless sky. There is almost no noise, only the occasional sound of water lapping against the boat and the faintest glimpse of the wind, punctuated by the splashes and cheering coming from my friends at the headland. All things considered, life could be a lot worse right now.

Annie's sitting on the edge of the boat, humming to herself, her back to the water. Katherine is lying back on her seat at the other end of the boat to me, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she struggles to read a book in the glare of the sun. I try to read the title of it, but the cover is silhouetted against the sun.

Over time, I hear the splashes from the headland becoming more and more infrequent, and assume everyone's either got tired or someone has gotten bored and moved away. I suspect the latter.

It turns out I'm correct when a minute later, a lone hand appears out of the water behind Annie, gets a handful of her green dress and pulls the screaming girl backwards off the edge of the boat into the water. In a split second both Katherine and I are bursting with laughter, and Finnick's laugh joins ours as he resurfaces a moment later, lying on his back in the water. Annie surfaces next to Finnick, her soaked dress billowing all around her, sodden brown hair falling straight down over her face. Glaring at Finnick, she pushes him away from her as he attempts to brush the hair away from her eyes.

"I don't need your help," she snaps at him. "It's thanks to you that I'm in this situation in the first place." Somehow, the fact that it's annoyed her makes it all the more funny, although I can see why she's angry. It was a nice dress she was wearing; it's a shame Finnick ruined it.

I offer Annie a hand back into the boat, which she accepts as I pull her in next to me, glancing over her shoulder to grin all too sweetly at Finnick.

"You know, if you want to get anywhere with girls, you've got to treat them right, not just dump them in the sea without notice," I tease Finnick. He rolls his eyes at me, and I smirk.

"You know fully well I could have anyone I wanted if I tried," Finnick says, hauling his semi-naked form back into our boat. "I mean, who wouldn't want all this?" He strikes a ridiculously provocative pose, the sort that he perfect to win sponsors back when he was in the Hunger Games two years ago. However, hear in District 4, all his poses manage to achieve is for Katherine to laugh at him. However Finnick shrugs it off and collapses into a seat next to Annie.

"Is everyone else on their way back now?" I ask my friends, remember where Finnick had appeared from in the first place.

"Take a look for yourself," Finnick says, nodding in the direction of Maria, Brandon and Dylan, who are swimming back towards the boat at a far more leisurely pace than the one Finnick managed just a minute or two ago. We only have to wait a few seconds for everyone to arrive again, suitably pleased by the morning's activities.

"So where now?" I ask everyone once we're settled back into the boat.

"I don't mind," Dylan says. "It's your birthday, after all." With everything that's gone on today, I'd almost pushed that to the back of my mind. I turn seventeen today.

"Well, I guess we'd better head back," I say regretfully. "I have a busy evening ahead of me, so I'm going to need some time to sort myself out."

* * *

By early afternoon we're back in the docks, and the seven of us go our separate ways, and I walk home with Finnick. We stop off in the town centre at my dad's stall in the fish market. I always take care to buy his produce when I'm in town. Since moving back into our old family house and leaving me living on my own, he's not wanted to touch a penny of my earnings, even though they are more than enough for both of us. At least this way, he'll accept some of my money, and I get something out of it, too.

It's weird as I walk home with Finnick to think that the further I walk, the more distance I am putting between the normal half of my life and myself, and venturing ever closer towards the more dominant, irregular half. On mornings like today, I can spend hours acting like your typical teenage boy from District 4; spending hours out in the bay with his friends during his free time. But unlike nearly all guys my age, my life just isn't quite that simple.

I reach my home and say goodbye to Finnick on the doorstep, stepping inside my home alone, to be greeted by luxurious, empty rooms, lavishly furnished to my taste. Money really was no object when designing this place. One of the few times the Capitol is willing to fork out large sums of money for the people in the districts, and it's not exactly for nothing, either.

After a long morning out in the sun, the first thing I need when I return home is a drink. I grab myself some juice from the kitchen and wander through to the sitting room on the other side of the hallway. I pace around for a while, planning what needs to be sorted for tonight before stopping still in front of the mirror above the fireplace in the sitting room, where I take a moment to look at myself.

I look pretty much as I always have done; short with a slim build, bright blue eyes and blond hair. Not silvery blond, not a dirty blond, just blond. It's been a while since I've cut it, so now it almost reaches my shoulders at the back, the fringe just in danger of covering my eyes. I should probably do something about it soon. Likewise the hair on my face. I'm at that age where my body can't quite decide whether it wants to let me grow a beard or not, so it's kind of settled somewhere halfway to give me this thin, fluffy moustache that seems to look worse the more that I look at it.

I decide that the next thing I need to do is have a shave.

Looking down from the mirror, I look at the mantelpiece just below it, the place where I keep my five most possessions, always there on show so that I can never forget them, as if I ever would.

The first is arguably the easiest to explain. A photograph taken four summers back, when I was just twelve years old. My family, standing together in front of our hose, where my dad still lives today. My dad, of course, is fine, and I'll debate that I am too, but my mother died last summer during the 66th Hunger Games. I was in the arena when she died, in the Capitol when the funeral was held. The fourth and final face in the picture is that of my sister Bellatrix, or Bella for short, who was aged sixteen at the time. When she turned eighteen she applied to be a part of the draft - a group of thirty or so young men and women with essential trades who are sent to live and work in the Capitol. I was told she was sent to the Capitol to become a fashion designer, although I was still surprised when she showed up in the Hunger Games nine months later as the stylist for the boy from District 12. But that's her job now - she's a part of the show.

The second item on my mantelpiece is a simple one - a small silver brooch that I gave Finnick to wear into the arena when he volunteered for the 65th Annual Hunger Games. A year later, it became my token also, as I followed in my best friend's footsteps and Finnick (then acting as my mentor) returned it back to me. Having reminded both of us of each other through without a doubt the most torturous ordeals of our life, the brooch has come to stand for everything that our long friendship means to each other.

The third object is the simplest of them all, and although it is only something that I have had for the past six months, it is too important to lie idly about somewhere. It is a faded photograph of a girl called Madelaine Harper, who used to live down in the docklands not far from where my dad worked. I say _used to_ because she got reaped for the Hunger Games the same year I did. Being my age, I'd known her for years from school. She was one of the oldest and closest friends that I had. I was really close to her before the 66th Games. Loved her, even. It almost broke me when I was the one who had to ease her out of this life at the end of the Games. My stomach still ties itself in a knot when I think of that fateful day.

The fourth object comes, by extension, as a consequence of the third. It is a wooden carving of a herring gull that I made about four months ago. My finest work to date. After the arena, victors are expected to pursue a talent; something that they can show the public to prove that they don't just spend all their days sitting around twiddling their thumbs. I suppose a little craftsmanship never harmed anyone, anyway. It's actually quite fun at times, when you can get into it.

However, the fifth and final item on my mantelpiece is undoubtedly the most important, taking pride of place in the centre. A golden band two centimetres high and nine inches across, decorated with simple patterns for embellishment; a crown of sorts. I have only ever worn it once, when I was awarded it by President Coriolanus Snow in front of the entire nation. Carved on the inside of the crown is the one fact about me that everyone seems to remember.

_Awarded to Ludovic Robertson of District Four, victor of the Sixty-Sixth Annual Hunger Games, aged fifteen years, ten months and fifteen days._

And that pretty much sums up who I am. A victor. A killer. A murderer. But more than that, a boy who's been flung into a world of fashion, celebrities and politics that he barely understands, where every person in that world wants to know his every move.

Such is the nature of the Capitol. It is one of the many drawbacks of winning the Hunger Games.

However, there is one true positive; you get to stay alive. A perk that only eleven living people can claim to have in District 4. And I'm one of them.

Living in Victors' Village as I do, I've gotten to know the lot of them; a whole group of people as broken and troubled as I am. We're a family of sorts; a family of murderers, misunderstood by society and those around us. We're like a large, dysfunctional family. But we all muddle through together, somehow. And they're a good lot, really. Once you get past the fact that they've all stabbed, shot, strangled or otherwise disposed of multiple kids in their youth.

I glance up at the clock in the living room. I only have a short while before the birthday celebrations are scheduled to begin.

_Time to go and meet them all._


	2. Chapter 2

**C****hapter Two**

**PoV: Ludovic Robertson (17), Hunger Games Victor**

**House 1, Victors' Village, District 4**

**5.30 pm, Saturday 7th September, year of the 67th Hunger Games**

* * *

Despite it being my birthday, someone made the decision for all the celebrations to take place at Mags' house. It's not surprising really, when you consider that Mags barely leaves Victors' Village. Being the oldest of all of us, she's something like a mother to the group, a go-to person whenever any of us are in need. She has watched all of us escape the arena from the perspective of the arena, watched over us through all our troubles. It's as though her house, despite being on the end of the row, is the focal point for all of our lives. The point where victors young and old cross over and get together for one occasion or another.

This time, of course, the occasion is my birthday. I actually manage to arrive first (well, first along with Finnick), wearing a shirt and trousers that could easily be considered _smart_. Something appropriate for an occasion that shall be far more formal than the rabble of teenagers in the bay from earlier today. Mags greets us at the door with a caring, toothy grin and leads the pair of us into the sitting room. To hazard a guess, Mags is probably in her early seventies, but she looks robust for her age, despite now just being an elderly woman. She somehow seems to manage alright.

We're ushered into the sitting room, where Mags offers me a drink I gratefully accept. We make small talk for a few minutes as we wait for others to arrive, giving me a chance to explain to Mags about why I've asked for nobody to buy me gifts this year. I have all the money I need to buy things that I want, and to put it bluntly, most of my friends don't. They are like the rest of District 4's citizens. If they spend their money wisely, they can get by. But all of them could do without the distraction of spending to keep me happy. Instead, I merely asked for my friends' company today.

Georgie is the next of us to arrive. She's a middle-aged woman who won her Games about twenty years ago, so she must be nearing forty. Although you wouldn't be able to tell it from her body. She is one of the trainers at District 4's Training Centre, where our district's young are sent to be trained up for competition in the Hunger Games. Several of our victors are responsible for running the facility. As such, she trains daily, leaving her with a body as trim and athletic as a twenty-five-year-old's might be.

After her, Auriel is the next to arrive. Aside from Finnick, he's the victor closest to my age, being just over ten years older than me. His Hunger Games, the 58th, were the first that I can clearly remember watching as a child, and from what I remember, there's no wonder why Auriel goes through phases of either being completely adrift from the rest of the world or breaks down into some sort of fear-induced panic. It was during one of these episodes that he was chosen as Finnick's mentor in the 65th Games two years ago, although he was so out of it that Mags took it upon herself to guide my best friend through the arena. Thankfully, he's seemed OK these past few weeks. Good for him.

The next three of District 4's victors arrive together - _the ladies_, we all call them. Natalie, Harriet and Danielle. All three are over the age of sixty, having won their Games before the First Quarter Quell, over forty years ago. I don't really speak much to any of them, talking more to the younger victors, but on the odd occasion that we have conversed they seem like charming people. Just like Mags, it seems hard to imagine them as the tough, murderous child they were when they stepped out of the arena all those years ago. What a difference a few decades can make.

Cale is the next to arrive, and I'll admit that I've seen even less of him than I have of the ladies since moving into District 4. He's probably in his early fifties, but it's hard to tell with him because from the amount he drinks, he could easily be a decade or two younger. I know his Games were some time between the Quells, presumably before Georgie's, but how far before, I don't know. From what I can tell, he didn't take victory well. To be honest, nobody really has, but he's taken it a fair bit worse than everyone else. His house is opposite Mags', and I think they are the only two buildings he ever visits. I never see him around town. I don't even think I've ever had a one-on-one conversation.

The last two to arrive are Julian and Harrow, who never seem to leave each other's company. The pair of them basically run District 4's Training Centre; Harrow because he was trained there himself as a kid and wants to continue the legacy of the Career Districts - that's what the outlying districts have nicknamed Districts 1, 2 and 4, where the government turns a blind eye on the illegal training of tributes for the Hunger Games. The tributes of the three districts often ally within the arena, and more often than not, one of them ends up winning the whole thing. That's why we've had fourteen victors in sixty-seven years of the Games, second only to District 2. So that's why Harrow helps with the training. By contrast, Julian works at the Training Centre because he never wants another tribute to enter the arena as underprepared as he once did. They're probably both aged about forty by now, maybe a couple of years under that, and despite all their contrasts, the two are thick as thieves.

"Sorry for the delays," Harrow says as he steps through the front door. "Blame Mr Sampson here for taking an age to lock up at the Centre."

Julian blushes self-consciously, trying to move the conversation along.

"Never mind that," he says, his eyes finding mine as he smiles. "So, how's the birthday boy?"

I can't help but smile at Julian's constant optimism. The way he always focuses on the good things.

"Not bad," I reply. "Tired, a little, I guess."

"Tired?" Finnick exclaims. "You barely did anything earlier except sit around! There I was, diving off the cliffs, and you were there sat on your -"

"Not helping, Finnick," I interrupt him. "I'm all right, Julian," I finish.

"Glad to hear it," Cale chuckles, who until then had been in conversation with Mags about something. Barely even acknowledging anyone else's existence, as usual.

"So what's the plan now?" Harrow asks, having taken a seat in Mags' windowsill. She glared at him as he did so, but doesn't really seem too bothered by it.

"Well, some of us bothered to get a nice meal ready for the lot of us," Finnick says. "No thanks to myself, of course. Mags and Georgie did all the work, really." Georgie nods from her corner of the room. "Don't worry, Harrow; there's going to be cake, if you need cheering up," Finnick laughs. Harrow often finds himself in bad moods. Especially in the month since the last Hunger Games. The boy who entered the Games for District 4, Alec Flood, had been close to Harrow before the Games, having lived in the Training Centre for the past ten years. He'd grown close to the victor during that time. And he'd almost made it out, poor kid.

"Well, if cake is involved, I'm sold." Auriel says, standing up and clapping his hands together with a sense of finality. "So, shall we dine?"

* * *

I have to admit, Georgie has pulled out all the stops with the meal. Four courses, a selection of meats and fishes cooked to perfection, and, of course, copious volumes of chocolate cake. We spend the evening crowded around Mags' dining table, making friendly conversation and letting the wine flow rather easily, so much so that it's not just Cale who's out of it by the time an inebriated Auriel decides to stand at the head of the table and make a small speech in my honour. Why he feels the need, I don't know, but we let him get on with it, anyway. In his current state, it should at least provide us with a few laughs.

"Now, I just have to say," Auriel slurs, using the table for balance. His whole posture defines _having one too many_. "What a great day this is for Master Ludovic over there," he smiles, gesturing towards me. "Why, I can still remember the kid who moved into Victors' Village not that long ago. Looked like he barely knew what puberty was, never mind experience it." This gets a couple of laughs; my diminutive height is often the source of jokes among victors.

"And now look at him, all grown up!" Auriel smiles drunkenly at me.

"I'm not that much taller now, you know," I say, but gesture for him to continue.

"It is a special day, when a boy becomes a man," Auriel continues, refilling his wine glass. I can't say I think it's a good idea, but nobody moves to stop him. "And what a proud occasion this must be for Ludo, leaving childhood behind at-"

"Auriel, you think this is Ludo's eighteenth, right?" Harrow hollers from the far end of the table.

Auriel pauses for a moment. "What?"

"Ludo's turning seventeen today," Georgie points out to him.

Auriel's eyes widen in shock. "So you mean this _isn't_ his eighteenth birthday?"

"Nope," Julian says, chuckling.

"Then why didn't anyone bother to say so!" Auriel says, more agitated than I'd expect. I blame the alcohol. "I've stood up here in front of you all with this speech that I've planned about Ludo's ascent into manhood, and you're telling me this is the _wrong birthday_?"

"Yeah, that's about right," I say, laughing myself.

"Bloody hell," Auriel says, running his hands through his mid-length bronze hair. "What a way to make a fool of myself..."

"Never mind," Harrow calls out to him. I can tell by how unnecessarily loud he's being that Harrow is drunk, too. "You can always drink to make up for it!"

Auriel opens his mouth to reply to Harrow, but before he can say anything, we all hear the phone ringing in the entrance hall outside.

"I'll get it!" Georgie calls, and she scrambles out of the room to spare Mags the rush. We all make small talk for a moment before she returns to the dining room.

"Ludo?" Georgie calls. "It's for you."

* * *

Telephones are a rare thing in the districts. Typically, anything that is going to cause communication between people is outlawed. Even the newspapers only tell stories about District 4, and very occasionally the Capitol. Television sets in the districts only have a restricted number of channels available for them. You'd never get a telephone in an ordinary home in Four. Only do the homes in Victors' Village have telephone lines connected to them, and only then can they be used to contact the other victors, or a number in the Capitol should you want to. Not that I've ever called a Capitol number in the past year. Thinking about it, I've barely used the phone in the last year, full stop. I've gotten by for sixteen years without one, and it never seems to pass my mind to use it when I could walk fifty feet down the road and talk to the person, anyway?

But, for once, someone is calling me. And it can't be one of my fellow victors, as they're all in the same room as me. What this means gives me an uneasy feeling in my stomach; the caller is from the Capitol.

_Whatever can they want?_

Out in the hallway, I pick up the receiver, the door into the dining room shutting behind me, allowing me some privacy. Good.

"Hello?" I say cautiously into the phone.

"Ah, Mr Robertson. So good to hear from you again." I instantly freeze upon hearing the voice. His voice.

"What do you want, Crane?" I snap back, a little unsure where the anger inside of me has bubbled up from. Probably the last time I met this man, Marcus Crane, way back in the Capitol in August. Apparently he's a man quite high up the political ladder in the Capitol, as well as being the man in charge of public relations for all the Hunger Games victors; how we appear to the Capitol, both on screen and in person.

"Come now, Ludo. Let's not be hostile." His mock caring voice makes my skin crawl. I have declined his offers once before, and I have no doubt he's come back before. "After all, what I have to offer you will be beneficial to both of us."

"I've already given you my answer."

I hear a sigh on the other end of the phone, if anything forced slightly by Marcus Crane, to make sure that I hear it. "I am willing to put behind us the incident back in the Capitol this summer and it down to an emotionally charged moment, a little too much of the red stuff beforehand, maybe?" He knows that I don't drink, but I suspect that is a way of hinting at his real meaning;_ I forgive you._

"Do you have new conditions to offer me, or are you still suggesting the same? Because if nothing changes at your end, then nothing changes at mine." The original proposition from his end had been a disgusting one, but I now know it to be standard practice among victors. At least, certain ones. Those who the Capitol view to be desirable become their property, in effect; property that can be hired out to Capitol citizens for their own use, I guess. It's no coincidence that several of the younger victors, such as the highly attractive Cashmere Adlington of District 1, leave behind them a train of Capitol suitors at the end of a lengthy visit.

"You know the deal already, Robertson. And I'm sure you will agree that it is in both of our interests."

"Am I missing something here, or are you trying to fool me into something?"

"I assure you, I'm not trying to con you," Crane laughs coldly. "It's something that I'd easily be capable of doing, but I can't say that deception is my style. Look, I'll tell you things how they are. You either comply to my demands, or you'll pay the price further down the line. Let's just say that my department have a bad habit of making people disappear."

I swallow hard. I know what he's saying. Defying him will put my friends at risk. But, being in the public spotlight as a victor, he can't harm me that much. At least, not too directly. Victors have a certain level of immunity just for being who they are. And so this is a risk that I'm willing to take. I can find a way around whatever he throws my way. I'm not going to give up my dignity to satisfy his own goals.

"I think I'll pass on your offer, thanks," I reply, trying to appear as calm as possible.

There's another pause at the other end of the line. I don't think Marcus Crane is used to people standing up to him.

"You're making the wrong decision," he warns me, although it almost sounds like he's begging for me to reconsider. Despite tension of the conversation, I have to fight to hold back a laugh upon hearing his tone.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see on that front," I reply, as tauntingly as I dare.

Crane sighs again, now seemingly conceding defeat, although his tone hardens when he speaks.

"Very well," he replies. "I can see that our business here is done. And make no mistake, when the time comes, you'll realise what you should be doing with your time."

"Whatever," I snap. I know what he is threatening; I've heard it all before. There is no benefit in staying here talking to this despicable man. "Now, if you have nothing else to offer me, I'd rather be getting back to my friends. There's a lot going on tonight."

"Of course. I have matters to deal with myself. Write up a targets list, for one."

_Bollocks._

I open my mouth, considering for one moment taking it all back and complying with him. He's really going to go through with all this.

But there is no chance, as Crane winds up the conversation before I can get another word in. "Oh, and congratulations on turning seventeen," he mutters at the last moment, just before he disconnects, leaving me in silence in the hallway.

* * *

The party winds on late into the evening, although I can't say I feel particularly up to it after that phone call. There's a lot of sitting around watching the older victors fool about, as you may expect at such an event when so much alcohol is available for them.

But eventually, the action winds down. Finnick and I are the last to leave, and we walk the length of Victors' Village together to get back to our homes. It's quiet out in the late evening, the sun just setting over the western bay where Finnick and I were out on the boat with our friends this morning. The sky is cloudless, the evening air crisp. It's going to be a cool night. The first shades of autumn on the horizon. We walk the journey together but silently, both lost in our own thoughts.

"Hey," Finnick eventually says, stopping me. "You OK?" He's noticed my lack of attentiveness, then.

"Yeah. No. Maybe," I shrug as an answer. From that, he knows something is up, and he's not exactly the sort of person to give up on something until he knows the whole of it.

"Is this to do with that phone call, then?" I nod. "Who was it from, anyway?"

"Marcus Crane." Finnick raises his eyebrows at that. I have never spoken to him about my meeting with Marcus Crane in the Capitol, considering he had the same meeting with him just a few minutes later. There was no need to discuss it with him, especially seeing how personal Marcus Crane's request was. It wasn't something I felt like I wanted to talk openly about, and I certainly wasn't going to press the matter with Finnick. I've never even asked him what he said to Marcus Crane, whether he took up the offer or not. But for Finnick to understand my situation, I will need to explain where I stand.

"Let's just say that he's still trying to recruit me."

"Wait, you actually said _no_ to him?" Finnick stares at me, slack-jawed, eyes wide and panicked. And in an instant, I know what Finnick said to Marcus Crane in the Capitol a month ago. I nod, and try not to think too much about the decision I have made, although, of course, my mind won't let me do that.

It's clear to me that Finnick and I have both taken different directions when it comes to dealing with Crane's threats. I guess only time will tell which one of us has come off worse for wear, though.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks to Mercoorio, Jemmie and stygian-apocalypse for reviewing! :)**

**This chapter is the first to show the large time span over which this story is being written. It isn't always this way, but sometimes there are considerable gaps in time between chapters. Hopefully that doesn't bother anyone...**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**PoV: Ludovic Robertson (17), Hunger Games Victor**

**The Justice Building, District 4**

**4.00 pm, Monday 20th January, year of the 68th Hunger Games**

* * *

"Ludo!"

I hear my voice called out across the crowds, and walk across the dance floor searching for the person who has summoned me. The victory tour has rolled on to District 4, and although the formal dinner is now over, the celebrations don't end there with the after-party. The latest Hunger Games victor and her entourage have arrived in Four, and I guess I'd be hard-pressed to say she received a warm welcome. Of her three kills in the arena last summer, two of them were ours. Marline Orman and the young man I mentored, Alec Flood. The guy who came second to her at the end of the Games last year. When he thought he had already won, only to learn that he had lost count of the tributes in the arena. A hard way to go, by all accounts.

"Ludo!" I hear my name again, but before I locate the voice I feel a firm grip on my wrist, someone dragging me away from the party - the best that District 4 can offer - and into a small alcove away from the eyes of those in the room with us. It's actually been cut off from the rest of the hall - a large tapestry draped over the gap, so we're completely out of sight in here. There's a small window behind us, and in that light I finally see who it is who wants me so urgently.

I'm staring into the deep brown eyes of Johanna Mason. The sixteen-year-old (now seventeen) who won the 67th Hunger Games last summer. Johanna's Games will go down in history as being one of the all-time greats, just by the way she played things. Strong, athletic and attractive enough to win the Games on her own, Johanna chose to hide her abilities and play the part of a shy, introverted girl scared of her own shadow until she entered the arena, throwing her competitors off her scent and giving her the edge once the Games began. Once people realised who she really was, sponsor support came flooding in and the Games were a done deal, at the expense of my own tribute, unfortunately. Still, as a fellow victor (one of just a few people who knows what she went through last summer during the Games), I have to admire her audacity to play the game in the manner that she did.

"Know a back way out of here?" Johanna says, not even bothering to say hello. She basically whispers it in the confines of the alcove, barely enough room for the pair of us. No doubt she doesn't want to be found.

"Nice to see you too, Johanna," I smile, and she rolls her eyes. I laugh. "The party not what you had in mind for today?"

"I'm sure you of all people know how tedious this tour gets." She raises a good point. A fortnight of daily public speeches, carefully-planned tours and late-night parties really does take its toll on you. This must be Johanna's eighth party in as many days. She sighs, pulling a hair pin out of her deep brown hair. She's let it grow out since the Games last summer, and now it almost stretches down to the top of her dark green strapless dress. Really, it makes her look a good five years older than she is. Less of a child and more of a young woman. A sign of the times, though, I guess. At seventeen I'm starting to notice similar things with myself some days.

"So you want to get out?"

Johanna glares at me. "Don't make me repeat myself."

I laugh, staring around the tight alcove we're in. "Well, there aren't really many options for escape in here..."

"Just get to the point."

"Honestly? I'm not sure. I can't say I have much cause to come to the Justice Building on a regular basis. I think there's a couple of back entrances - maybe a fire exit? - if you can get up past the long table where they're serving food at the head of the table," I tell her.

"Fat chance of that working," Johanna snorts. "Blight has barely left the food table since we arrived."

I hold my hands up, as if to apologise for something. "Then I'm all out of ideas."

"You're bloody useless, you know that?" She tries to sound threatening, but it almost comes out as a laugh, such is the oddness of our situation. "Well, I'm not going back out there if I can help it," she says, somewhat more human, in some way more emotional, than anything she's said to me so far this afternoon. "I'm fed up of being the centre of attention."

"I'm afraid to say that's just a part of being a victor," I say quietly, but Johanna isn't really listening. She's staring out the small window, towards the western bay and the sea beyond, where the watery sun has just passed beneath the horizon. I take a moment to wonder what exactly she's looking at, when she reaches forward to undo the latch on the window and swings it open outwards, a freezing blast of January air filling our little alcove. I shiver involuntarily as Johanna glances my way once, a devious grin on her face, before she launches herself out the window.

I have to force myself not to call out her name as I lean my head out the window, looking down at the fifteen foot drop onto the beach below us. It's low tide now. Had it been high tide and the Justice Building would be right up against the sea. Johanna, however, has landed just a couple of feet beneath the window on a ragged part of the rock formation that just a hundred metres along the bay would become the cliffs at its northern end. From there, she scrambles over a few low boulders, hurdling her way down onto the fine sandy beach without ever once stopping to check her speed. In a tight-fitting dress, no less.

Sometimes, you have to wonder if this girl even knows what fear is.

At the bottom, she glances back up at me, a daring look on her face as she beckons for me to join her. I glance nervously back at the tapestry for a moment, the noise of the party beyond it. I doubt I'll be missed for a few minutes, anyway. I shrug, give Johanna a cavalier grin and follow her down onto the beach.

When I join her she's leant back against the rocks, her arms folded across her chest, as though in some way disappointed in me.

"Took your time getting down here," Johanna says.

"I guess some of us don't specialise in being reckless," I retort. She grins at that. I guess she likes someone to argue with, for whatever reason. Which suits me just fine. "So Johanna, you know what you want to do now, don't you?"

She shrugs, and my stomach sinks. Looking at the climb back up to the window, it's going to be harder to get back in than it was to get out, and I don't really want to have to go through that yet if I don't have to.

"You know some good hiding spots, around here, right?" Johanna asks me, staring out to sea. "Some places you go to when you just want to get away from everything?" I nod. "Well, go on then. Take me somewhere. Let's get out of here."

I consider taking Johanna to my usual space, up in the woods where I often go to relax, looking out over the bay, but I realise the number of peacekeepers we'd need to evade to get round to there. Far too much risk involved. It's not just like they'll find us and escort us back. They'll want to know what we're doing away from the party. Well, Johanna might get away with it if we're lucky. I'd probably end up getting interrogated about why I was smuggling the latest Hunger Games victor away from her own party, or something like that. Not an exciting prospect for either of us.

Thinking for a moment, I notice that it's high tide, and suddenly I know just the place.

"Follow me," I say smiling, beckoning for Johanna to follow me along the beach.

It only takes a couple of minutes to reach the cave, burrowing deep into the cliffs that have now sprung up along the side of the bay. At low tide it's possible to walk quite a way along the base of these cliffs, and I keep going until I reach a cave I know of, where the rocks above shelter us from the wind and is next to invisible if you're looking from town towards the cliffs. Get just a couple of metres inside the cave and we'll be as good as invisible.

I offer a hand to Johanna to clamber up onto the drier rocks a few metres inside the cave, which she accepts graciously. We find a small ledge of rock that offers a) a good, dry seat and b) a nice view out over the bay. I perch myself on Johanna's right, trying to leave her some space although the ledge is a little cramped. One of the cons to its many pros. We sit in silence for a few moments, staring out across the bay in the fading light, before Johanna speaks up suddenly.

"I've never seen the sea before," she says quietly, almost as though she is speaking to herself. "I mean, not in real life, at least. I've seen it on TV, of course. In the Games. But that doesn't really do it justice, does it?" She speaks almost like a child, a voice filled with wondrous excitement. More like a normal teenage girl. Not the harsh tone of the battle-hardened victor I was speaking to a few moments ago. It was as though, for whatever reason, she's decided to trust me. Most probably because of my status as a victor.

"I suppose not," I murmur. "You like it, then?"

"Absolutely," she nods. "I love it."

"I guess I take it for granted sometimes," I admit. "We get it alright down here."

"You have a nice district," Johanna says, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Everyone seems so relaxed out here, so carefree," she says.

"You'd be surprised," I reply, thinking of the suffering in the Docklands. I can almost guarantee that the peacekeepers haven't let her anywhere near that part of the district.

"Don't worry, we probably have it worse in Seven," Johanna laughs. It is a hollow laugh; there is nothing really funny about what she's said, but there is no self-pity in her voice, either. She is simply stating the facts.

"I suppose we get things easy up here in the Career Districts," I shrug, and Johanna smiles.

"You could say that again," she adds.

"Don't worry, it's worse in One and Two than it is here," I say. "We're like District Twelve compared to them."

"Hardly," Johanna says. "Having seen Twelve in the past week, I think I can say that District Four is decidedly nicer." I don't really have anything else to say to that.

For a few moments the cave falls into silence again, the only noise the periodic crashing of the waves outside in the bay. Johanna's eyes seem fixed on a point out in the bay, as though she's thinking very hard about something. I look around the cave, the high rocks above us, the darkest depths that I have rarely explored in my many visits to this place. Johanna looks so very out of place sitting next to me, not just because of who she is and what she's wearing, curled up on a rocky ledge in a fancy Capitol-tailored dress, with fancy earrings and high heels. Yep, she's clambered all the way up here _in heels_. For the most part, Johanna looks out of place simply because she's here.

I discovered this cave a few summers back, when I was probably eleven or twelve, and since then it's been my go-to place whenever I've needed to take some time out and just think about things. I came here a lot last autumn, in the months after Maddie's death in the Games. Not so much this year, though. But it has always been my refuge away from the world. And I have never brought anybody here until now. Not even Finnick knows of this place. Or if he does, he doesn't know that I use it as a safe haven away from the rest of District 4 and all its troubles.

That's when I realise that Johanna is the first person that I've ever brought out here. Without even really thinking about it, either. Maybe it's because I know that she can't tell anyone about it, because admitting she's been here would explain her disappearance from the party, or maybe it's because she's never likely to return to District 4 again, and if she does, she most likely won't remember how to get here, anyway. But I think the real reason that I brought Johanna out to this cave this evening is because, just as she has done to me, I have let her into my circle of trust even though we have only spoken a handful of times over the last year. The two of us, united by our common history. Our shared past, of blood, deception and torture. Even though we have barely spoke, we have a way of understanding each other that precious few others could manage, never mind people our age.

"I wish-" Johanna suddenly says, quietly, sighing and cutting herself off, shaking her head in the fading light of the cave. "I wish I could just stay here, you know? Out of the way of everyone, out of the reach of the people dictating my life. Away from whatever horrors might await me out there in the world. Hell, even just to stay here in Four would be a luxury." Johanna shakes her head again, laughing shakily. "I would never go back home, given the choice."

"Why not?"

Johanna sighs again. Maybe I have been insensitive. I try to make up for it, placing an arm over her shoulders comfortingly. The way she speaks is as though she doesn't think she should be telling me this, but that she wants me to ask about it anyway. So, she keeps talking.

"It all started after the Games," Johanna whispers, only just visible over the waves. Even though nobody will hear us out here, I'm sure she's still paranoid about what she can and can't say without being caught. I have exactly that problem all around the district. I just know a few places where the Capitol can't keep tabs on us, this being one of them. "When I was in there, back in the tunnels, I can't say that I was exactly supporting of the Capitol. In hindsight, some of the things I said were awful; brash, open and, to be honest, _rebellious_. Only I didn't realise it at the time. I honestly didn't think it mattered what I did once I was in the arena; the Capitol had it in for me whatever I did, whatever I said."

"Well they did, didn't they?" I ask.

Johanna shrugs. "I don't know - I mean, I had quite an easy run in the Games. The trouble came when I got out and returned home to District 7." Of course. She doesn't need to say any more. The Capitol don't take well to people disobeying them. I know this from past rumour, tales of dubious deaths and torture, and also from my own experiences of dealing with Marcus Crane, whose threats have thankfully amounted to nothing so far.

Even though there is no need, Johanna continues her tale, staring out to the ocean. "They told me when I got home that it had been a gas leak," She looks down at the cave floor, kicking a loose stone about with her heels. A hollow laugh escapes her throat, vibrating with barely concealed emotion. In a district where Capitol security leaves no stone unturned, I can imagine it hard to get your emotions out at times, for fear of persecution. It seems to me as though Johanna has chosen this time and place to be the one to let it all loose. "By the time I had escaped the crowds and was returning to a relatively normal life, they told me that they were dead." Her voice breaks at the end, and even though I know I shouldn't, I ask who she is referring to.

"My parents," she chokes out, and then she starts sobbing. A shivering wreck, she buries her face into my shoulder as she cries, my arms offering whatever comfort I can manage to give. A cold shiver runs down my spine, and it is not from the January wind. It is from the fact that the Capitol could be so callous, so cruel, to take both her parents away from her without her knowing. For saying something that ultimately, while not being the most clever thing to say, was correct.

"I'm so sorry," I say, and right there and then in that cave I mean it. I barely know the girl, yet I know her so well. She's been through the same hell as I have.

"You don't know the half of it," she snaps, almost angry, her head resting in the hollow just above my collarbone. "There was nothing left when I arrived there. I was told it had been a couple of weeks since it had happened. Even the funeral had been and gone. There was no way to get out my emotions, no way to escape the nightmare. Blight is like a distant relative, not one to confide in, and all my friends abandoned me after they saw my true colours in the arena. The fire took everything - my home, my belongings, every reminder of my old life wiped from this earth in a flash. You know the only thing I have left? My sister. My little sister, who is so scarred both mentally and physically from the night when her whole world burnt down around her that she's even more broken than I am."

I open my mouth to say something to that, but nothing seems forthcoming. I just let Johanna wrap herself against me, whimpering as the tears flow, her whole body shaking like a leaf. Quietly, tentatively, she continues her tale.

"I don't even see her anymore," she says, her voice filled with regret. "They said that, being only sixteen, I was too young to look after her properly, and the authorities took her to the orphanage. I get to visit twice a week, in the afternoons. Considering her care, they don't let her out any more than that. Not until her condition improves, anyway. Which might not happen for a long time. She's _gone_, Ludo. The girl I grew up with is gone. And now I'm left with this wreck of a person I used to love, and I can't do a thing but watch her waste away."

After that, there is nothing else to say. I think she must understand that as much as I do. But the longer that we sit there together in the fading light, the worse I feel. Even after the tears dry up for Johanna, her load shared between us and we sit together in quiet contemplation, I begin to feel more and more tense. The thing is, all these terrible things happened to Johanna, and for what? Standing up to the Capitol, just as I have done. Although I have done so far more explicitly, so I can only presume that I won't get off as 'lightly' as Johanna has done. When Crane decides it is time to stand against me for my insubordinance, how much will be left for me?

I have to wonder if it's only a matter of time before the roles here in the cave are reversed, and I am the emotional wreck desperately looking for a way to let my feelings go.

For the first time, I begin to wonder if I have bitten off more than I can chew.

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**A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks to Jemmie for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :)**

**Just like how the timespans between chapters is going to vary with this story, I think the actual length of the chapters is going to vary also. But even though this one is a little shorter, I hope that you all like it :)**

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**Chapter Four**

**PoV: Ludovic Robertson (17), Mentor for the Female Tribute, District 4**

**The District 4 Tributes' Train, en route to the Capitol**

**7.30 pm, Sunday 13th July, year of the 68th Hunger Games**

* * *

The train rumbles on again as I make the same journey I've made for the past two summers.

Back as a mentor once again.

However, it's the third time that Finnick has made the journey this year already. He was summoned to the Capitol in January to attend the grand party at the end of the victory tour, and he hung around there for a month or so, presumably on some errands for Marcus Crane. That is how we have come to describe the whole situation. Better that than talk about it openly in our homes, which most likely are bugged by the Capitol, anyway.

Not that we talk about it much, anyway. It's a bit of a taboo subject even among us victors, as I suspect many of those I live with went through the same thing in their youth. But all I can say, is that thankfully, Crane has stayed away from me throughout this year. Remembering what Johanna said about returning home to nothing, I'm a little apprehensive about spending the best part of a month in the Capitol, but duty calls.

Another year, another reaping, and surprise, surprise, I've got the worst of it. Then again, having had my name drawn from that bowl twice before, I think I already know the way luck works around me. Finnick and I have decided to swap roles this year, so he could mentor the boy and I the girl. Finnick's got it lucky, with this properly-trained Career who volunteered for the twelve-year-old whose name was drawn from the reaping bowl. Evan Parker. Easily over six feet tall, must be touching two hundred pounds, you won't see a larger physical presence in this year's Games, that's for sure.

On the other hand, I got Grace Tyler.

Grace isn't bad, I suppose. She should be able to defend herself, despite having no training. She's pretty, which could be used to her advantage, as long as she gets a decent-ish training score. Nobody will give sponsors to a girl who scores a three, no matter how good-looking they are. She's probably five and a half feet tall, slim and at least relatively athletic. I doubt she has any experience with weapons, though. Still, there's time to work on that. But she will by no means be the favourite to get out of the arena alive.

But really, what makes it so much more difficult this year than last year is that I know Grace. And I don't just mean that I've seen her around every now and then in District 4 and know her name. I actually know her. She was in my year at school, was in the same lessons as Finnick and I were, before we got kicked out almost two years ago. I don't know what Grace has been up to this past year, but she was always alright at school. Even if she was constantly trying to flirt with Finnick. I smile at the memories of the old days, but then remember that it's not going to be like that again. We've all grown up, gone our own ways. And one of us has effectively been given a death sentence this year by being reaped for the 68th Annual Hunger Games.

No wonder nobody was going to volunteer for her; she's three months away from eighteen, capable of surviving in the arena almost as much as any Career would be. Sure, she won't be a natural killer (at least, it's highly unlikely), but she's no pushover. What's the point of voluntarily giving yourself up to the Games if the person you're replacing stands a reasonable chance of winning, anyway?

So that's where we stand in the Games this year. Really, we're worse off than last year, already. But there's nothing we can do now except trying to work with what we've got.

Finnick and I sit in silence in the dining car, sprawled across a sofa beneath the wall-mounted television that's currently showing some sort of Hunger Games highlights programme. Having been issued a TV in victor's village with access to Capitol channels and not just the highly-censored content everyone else in the district is shown, I'm aware of most of the programming that the Capitol use. I mean, there's a couple of general channels - _CBC1_ and _CBC2 - _and then all sorts of specialities - you know, sports channels, comedy channels and the like. Then there's this station - channel 11 - called_ Hunger Games TV_, that I barely ever see anything of. It shows old reruns of past Hunger Games, highlights shows, and basically anything related to the Games all day, every day. I can't stand to watch it much, but apparently it's popular in the Capitol. However, the point I'm getting at is that on reaping day, it doesn't matter what you watch, every channel is like _HGTV_. There is no choice; the Games are all-encompassing. So Finnick and I struggle through this terrible feature about past victors of District 8 while we wait for the show we actually want to watch - the recap of this year's reapings.

Finnick slouches beside me, a glass of wine in his right hand. Since his return from Capitol in February, he's been a little more liberal with pouring out the red stuff - considering what I'm sure he went through under the watchful eye of Marcus Crane, I'm not surprised. But I do my best to keep him sober when I can, being a non-drinker myself. I don't want him turning into a Haymitch. But considering what everyone goes through on reaping day, I really don't care this evening.

Eventually the credits roll, and Finnick rises from his seat to stretch his arms, walking slowly towards the door out of the car, towards our tributes' bedrooms.

"Want me to go fetch them in to watch this?" He asks me.

"Let them know it's on, anyway," I tell him. "But don't force them to come. If they're not feeling up to it, then don't force them to come down here. They have plenty of time to get their head sorted out," I say, thinking of Grace. Another year, another friend from school in danger. I can't help wondering if Marcus Crane planned it to be this way; to make me suffer for my insubordination.

I'm not surprised when Grace doesn't show her face as the recap starts. Finnick puts the alcohol down as he joins Evan and myself in watching the screens as the reaping in District 1 gets underway. With District 1 being a Career District along with Districts 2 and 4, I'm not surprised when a girl steps up to volunteer - Lustre, her name is. She's probably seventeen or eighteen like most who volunteer from District 1, having been trained for the Games throughout her teenage years and will have been selected by her district's Training Centre as their strongest; the one who should volunteer at the reaping. There's no denying Lustre will be good.

The boys, however, cause some confusion; there are two volunteers. Finnick, sitting next to me, laughs aloud, and Evan manages a snort, too. Among Career Districts, two volunteers is a serious faux pas. District 1 have spent years training kids to take the role of tribute in the Games, have hand-picked their best, and then someone else steps up, too? You can almost hear the groan on the face of the male mentor, a friend of ours called Gloss Adlington who won four years ago. It's immediately clear who has been groomed for victory and who hasn't; one of the tributes strides confidently out of the eighteen-year-olds' section, his body padded out with muscles, an arrogant smile on his attractive face. His eyes are green and vibrant; his blond hair cut short. Whoever he is, I have no doubt he's meant to be volunteering.

And I can't shake the feeling that he seems somewhat familiar.

The second volunteer is a boy of seventeen who darts out before the trained Career can even raise his voice. The seventeen-year-old is slight and gangly, a mop of light brown hair on his head, a few inches shorter than his adversary.

Everyone on stage, including the District 1 escort, seems completely perplexed. This is not an event that happens often. It has only happened once in recent memory in District 4, and that was last year, when Alec Flood, our chosen volunteer, was challenged by an eighteen-year-old called Nathan Foster. Thankfully, I had the idea of letting the boys fight for their place; I would get the better man as my tribute. Unfortunately, nobody seems to suggest this in District 1. After much debating which slows up the whole process, they take the decision to say that the boy who had reached the stage first will become District 1's male tribute. This means that the trained Career has been edged out for this gangly teenager, whose name is Johan. I'm sure he'll be able to fight, but Lustre is definitely the stronger of District 1's tributes.

District 2 throws up a fairly usual pair of tributes; a boy possibly an inch over six feet tall, and a girl who possibly even seems to dwarf him. She reminds me of Lyme, this monstrous woman who won for Two about fifteen years ago. It's rare when a girl ends up being the muscle in the Career Pack, although I think that will be the case this year. The boy - Jace - seems to be all but forgotten in the presence of his district partner. As far as the Careers are concerned, Laura is the early star of the Games.

No surprises in District 3, and then I rewatch my own district's reaping. There are no surprises there, considering I stood on the stage throughout the whole thing.

District 5 doesn't offer too much by way of competition, although both from District 6 are aged eighteen and might get better than average scores in training.

Then comes District 7, and the name drawn for the girls is-

_Oh, no._

"Rebecca Mason."

I watch on, helpless, as a fourteen-year-old girl stumbles vacantly up to the stage. You don't need to know her name to know she's related to Johanna. Same wide set brown eyes, same brown hair. I guess, for what Johanna did, killing her parents simply wasn't enough. Maybe they had meant to get rid of her sister too, and now they're just going to finish the job. Just a glance at Rebecca will tell you that she's not going to survive the Games. The way she walks would give away her injuries alone, if it weren't for the burn scars that cover the right side of her face. Guaranteed, she'll get the sympathy vote, but she'll be dead within the first three days. Maybe, rather than dragging it out for a fortnight or so, Johanna will be better off this way.

I begin to wonder, considering the spurious correlations between defiant victors and the tributes representing them in this year's Games, if this sort of Capitol revenge is more common than I had thought. To someone who doesn't know, this would be a normal reaping. But because I know what I've been through, what Johanna has been through, I can't help wonder who else has been tortured by the Capitol in this way.

And if Johanna gets all this, then I'm sure Grace Tyler won't be the worst of it for me, either.

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**A/N: If you liked this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks to Jemmie for reviewing the last chapter! :)**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**PoV: Ludovic Robertson (17), Mentor for the Female Tribute, District 4**

**The Training Centre, The Capitol**

**11.00 am, Thursday 17th July, year of the 68th Hunger Games**

* * *

It's quiet down here on the observation platform.

There's a walkway that runs along the side of the gym perpendicular to the Gamemakers' box where mentor can come down to watch training. The windows are tinted out so the tributes have no idea that we're here. And anyway, most good mentors should be spending their days gathering every last drop of sponsor support that they can for their tributes. You'd think that my being down here makes me a bad mentor, but the fact is that Finnick's flirting with the Capitolites will have us set for sponsor support, no problems. So I might as well keep an eye on our tributes, anyway.

And it's not like anyone's going to know I've been down here, anyway. It's an unspoken rule among mentors to never mention being on the observation platform. In the eyes of our tributes, time spent here would be time wasted. So they never know about it.

As it stands, it's the final day of training, with just a couple of hours before the individual sessions begin after lunch, and District 4 are doing rather well. Both Evan and Grace have managed to get themselves involved with the tributes from Districts 1 and 2 in the Career Alliance, and now that I've seen a bit more of everyone I'll hazard a guess that Evan will come out as favourite for the Games once the training scores are revealed this evening. I'll be disappointed if he doesn't get double figures, something that only a couple of tributes will most likely get this year. The field is far weaker than it has been in a few years.

Laura still remains a threat, wielding a sword or a battleaxe as well as any boy I've seen in the Games for a good few years. Both Jace from Two and Lustre from District 1 seem distinctly average for Careers. Strong, but they'll be lacking in sponsor support in comparison to the others once the alliance falls apart - if they last that long. Grace, surprisingly, seems to know a thing or two about wielding an axe. That and a dagger. One-handed weapons definitely seem to be her strength. I say that, but even watching her at the knives station in the gym as I am now, Jace and Lustre are still better at it than her.

I'm hoping that the Gamemakers have something special lined up for this year. If the arena is regular, I doubt there'll be much Finnick and I can do to save her, sadly. A dozen images of her from my childhood flash before my eyes as I think this, my brain trying to remind me what I'm fighting for. I mean, she's good, but she's not good enough.

Then again, I'm sure Finnick thought the same thing when he was mentoring me.

I suppose Grace could still win this thing. I shouldn't be ruling her out before the Games have even started.

The last of the six Careers is Johan, the boy from District 1, who I now realise is the brother of Robin Hurst, my ally in the arena during the 66th Games. His brother was a highly-trained archer, a decisive thinker, a model tribute. Killed by what was essentially a stroke of luck; a long-range shot into nothing, an arrow through his temple. Dead before he hit the floor, just an hour from the end of the Games.

His younger brother, however, clearly has none of his brother's training. I haven't seen him hold a bow once, and I doubt he'd be foolish enough to take a page out of Johanna's book and start hiding things. Nobody will fall for it this year, not after the shocks during last summer's Games. With everything else, Johan's average at best; maybe a quick learner, but clearly not trained. As I look down over the gym, I see Johan wielding a sword, getting directions from Laura about how to hold it best, where to strike to be most effective. He takes everything in quietly, nodding and working diligently to improve his skills. But he's still somewhat clumsy and he's got an hour or so to do something about it; not a promising position to be in.

One thing Johan does have in his favour is his build. Whippet-thin, small yet toned muscles packing more punch than you might expect. I wonder what he's done to get those muscles on his arms back in One. And boy, can he run. He's built perfectly for those short-distance sprints that are always associated with the start of the Games. So much so that the forty metres has become a legitimate track event in recent years. Whatever he wants to grab at the cornucopia on the first day of the Games, he'll get to it first. That's as much of an advantage as any going into the arena. As long as you know what you are strong with. As long as you know what you want.

Elsewhere in the field, the girl from Six seems to be faring well, along with both from District 9 - I think I missed out on them when watching the reapings recap because I was still thinking about Johanna's sister, Rebecca. From where I'm standing Rebecca seems like the sort of tribute Johanna was pretending to be last year, only nothing Rebecca does is an act. Maybe Johanna will see it as a small mercy that she won't last long in the arena. Maybe it will be better for her that way. But however you want to spin it, it's certainly tough on Johanna that everything seems to be stacked against her this year.

"I never thought I'd see you down here, Robertson."

I turn around to see Johanna Mason leaning against the back wall of the observation platform, two metres back from the glass wall that I stand up against. Speak of the Devil...

"I didn't really think I'd expect you, in your first year as a mentor, to be down here, either," I say back to her, and Johanna shrugs. As the one of only two living victors in District 7, it's going to be Johanna's responsibility to mentor one of the kids from Seven every year, whether she likes it or not. At least, until another victor comes around for her district. Maybe then she'll get a break from the torture of it.

"What else should I be doing then?" Johanna retorts, her voice harsher than I remember it being in January. Then again, we're in public now; she can't give in to weaknesses like she was able to then. Even if she wants to. "Finnick and Draco have taken all the sponsor support between themselves, and there's nothing I can do to help Blight win people around for a pair of weaklings." Her voice catches at the last word, realising the label that she has assigned herself to her sister. Even she doesn't believe that Rebecca stands a chance in the Games.

I take a few tentative steps towards Johanna, leaning on the wall next to her, the platform silent but for the echoes of my footfalls as I edge towards her.

"Nothing that I do up there will actually help her," Johanna says. She almost spits the words out. Days of stress and pressure have been taking their toll on her, and she needs a way to vent everything before she explodes. "What will I achieve? Enough sponsor support to get her one gift? A gift that, when it comes to it, will keep her alive for a six hours, if that? I'm wasting my time up there. I'd rather stay down here and keep my sight on her for all the time that I have left."

Johanna walks slowly towards the glass, which prevents us from falling into the gym and prevents the tributes from seeing us in equal measure. She glances down at Rebecca, who is over at the climbing wall, tears forming in her eyes. Cautiously, I put a comforting arm over her shoulders, and she leans her head in towards me, leaning it against mine.

"What about you?" she says, gesturing towards Evan and Grace with a slight flick or her head, her voice barely above a whisper. Being completely alone on the corridor, it carries perfectly and echoes back at us in almost ghostly silence. "Any sob stories you've got for me?" I almost laugh at that.

"Grace is a kid from our school year," I say.

"So you know her?"

"Yeah," I nod. "We're not really close or anything. Never have been, and now I doubt we ever will be. But I guess Marcus Crane wasn't going to let me off too easily after last summer."

"You've spoken to him too?" Johanna asks me. _Really?_ He came after Johanna too?

"You know, I'm surprised he came after you," I tell her. Johanna pulls away from me, feigned shock on her face.

"Why!" she cries. "Am I not pretty enough, then?" she pouts.

"No, it's not that," I say and then stop, blushing as I realise what I've just said. I've never been great around girls. I try to carry on through it, but Johanna punches me on the arm playfully, in the way that Maddie used to when I wound her up, too. And right there and then Johanna seems so like her to me that it hurts. I sigh, my arms swinging limply by my sides, and carry on. "I just didn't expect him to come after you so quickly."

"It's probably because I was that little bit older than you when I won," she muses. "But what does it matter? The result was the same."

"Yes said no?"

Johanna grins. "I told him exactly where he could shove it."

I laugh at that, although it seems hollow, given the circumstances.

"So yeah, I think this year's Games is going to suck for both of us," Johanna says bluntly, and I just shrug. I try to think of something else to say to that, but there really isn't anything. We both know we've drawn the short straw this year. We're just going to have to grit our teeth and bear it.

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**A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks to Jemmie, boy45 and Mercoorio for reviewing the last chapter!**

**This was meant to be a part of Chapter Five, but it grew too long, and it would have been better to post it separately due to the gap in time between the two sections, anyway :)**

**Readers of my fanfic _75 Games, 75 Victors, 75 Oneshots_ will probably be familiar with the events of this chapter. Still, I hope you all enjoy it :)**

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**Chapter Six**

**PoV: Ludovic Robertson (17), Mentor for the Female Tribute, District 4**

**The Hunger Games Headquarters, The Capitol**

**9.30 am, Sunday 20th July (Day 1 of the Games), year of the 68th Hunger Games**

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"I'll be rooting for you as always!" Flavius, our escort, calls out from the taxi as he drops Finnick and myself off at the Hunger Games Headquarters, just half an hour before the start of the Games. The last couple of days have gone well for us - Evan and grace scored a ten and a seven respectively, with both showing strong interviews. Considering a lower average score than usual this year, things have gone surprisingly well for us, in all honesty. But that doesn't mean that I don't feel like my stomach is full of lead.

Finnick and I take the short walk up to the third floor of the building together, towards the Mentors' Room, where we will be based until the end of the Games. At least, the end of the Games for our tributes. The Mentors' Room is filled with a bright white light as it has always been, making it feel fresh and clean. As it was last year, the room has been set up with two semi-circles of desks covered in computer screens, tiered to allow a good view of the massive screen that fills the entire wall at the front of the room, which plays the standard _CBC 1_ Hunger Games broadcast. Other cameras, views and angles are allowed on our own personal screens at our desks.

I sit down at my desk between Finnick and Luke Ford, a victor in his early thirties who is mentoring the boy from District 5. Leaning back in my chair, I allow myself to listen in to the usual chatter that fills the room before the Games begin. Everyone trying to keep busy, so they don't have to focus on what's really going on. It's a winning strategy, in all honesty. This year, it seems that the Mentors' Room is filled by a mix of fresh faces and of the old guard of mentors; Finnick, Johanna and myself on one hand, regular faces like Chaff, Beetee and Blight on the other. As ever, Haymitch is sat at the end of the back row, pouring himself a drink.

Taking everything in, I try to calm myself and prepare for the beginning of the Games in around twenty minutes' time. I take care, sifting through the drawers under my desk to find a notepad and pen, scribbling in notes about various tributes in an attempt to keep my mind busy. Any spare time and I'll start worrying even more about Grace.

It feel different to last year, this short period of time when there is nothing else you can do but wait for the bloodbath to begin. Last year, I was nervous for Alec, but I was nervous for Harrow's sake, not my own. This year, I'm scared what will happen to Grace because I know her as a person away from the Hunger Games. It is for my sake that I'm worrying this year, not anybody else's. And that definitely makes me feel even worse.

I start flicking through a catalogue of sponsor gifts on the touch-screen on my desk before I start getting myself too worked up over something I can't control.

And slowly the clock ticks away the seconds towards the Games.

Five minutes.

Two minutes.

One minute.

The studio feed on the screen at the front of the wall is replaced by a shot of the arena as the tributes all rise up into it simultaneously, sixty seconds prior to the start of the Games. Just a minute until the gong sounds, and everyone becomes a target.

One of the worst part of being a mentor is the bloodbath at the start of the Games. We all know it is coming; we all know the danger that our tributes will have to face. But we can do nothing about it. In those first moments, we are just as passive and helpless as those watching in their own homes, back in the districts.

So we do the one thing that we are able to do. We attempt to understand the arena. One thing our tributes can't do until they gain a fuller perspective.

Only, we can't even do that this year. The tributes have arrived in a landscape as dark as the night sky. We - and, more importantly, the tributes - can't see a thing. There is no telling what this arena might hold. At least, not yet. I glance down at the map on the screens on my desk, but it is blank. We see the arena as the tributes see it, so right now we have nothing. But the usual camera shots looking over the cornucopia and beyond tell us nothing.

A hushed silence has fallen over the Mentors' Room as all the mentors slowly slip on their headphones to listen in to their own tribute's actions, which might not be heard clearly on the standard broadcast, considering that commentary will no doubt obscure a lot of what is being said during the bloodbath. I look around me at my fellow mentors to see if anyone else has any idea what is going on, but I am only greeted with shrugs. Sighing with frustration, I put on my own headphones and immerse myself in watching over Grace. Zooming in on her dot on the blank map on my screen, I can see that she is starting between Laura and the boy from District 8. Of those three, she should win the race to the cornucopia, and it's good to know that she's starting with an ally nearby, anyway.

The seconds finally drift away and the gong sounds as the Games begin, and the arena is suddenly awash with a bright yellow light.

The arena appears to be a very large sports hall. Seemingly the size of a large aircraft hangar, with wooden flooring and an artificial yellow light flooding down from fixtures in the ceiling seven or eight metres overhead. There is no cover in this arena, at least not as far as we can see so far. All twenty-four tributes begin on their pedestals as usual, but this year there is no cornucopia. Instead, there is a pyramid of supplies, heaped three or four metres high, spilling out across a golden circle drawn out on the floor, possibly ten metres across. Supplies won't be an issue for anyone this year. Unless, or course, all the bags and boxes are empty. Still, I can see plenty of weapons all over the pile of supplies - they definitely won't be fakes, at least.

Just like many of us mentors have spent the first few seconds of the Games indulging getting a good view of the arena, many of the tributes have, too. Four or five tributes had the wherewithal at the start of the Games to make an early dash for supplies, although soon almost everyone is on their way to the supplies. As usual, around six tributes don't bother making an attempt at getting supplies, and instead run off into the arena immediately. As they run, I notice that despite getting further from the cornucopia and the other tributes, they don't seem to be getting any closer to the walls at the edge of the sports hall, which they really should be able to reach well within a minute. I get the feeling that the Gamemakers have set up the arena so that the tributes will never reach the walls, no matter how far they run.

Meanwhile, back at the 'cornucopia', Johan Hurst and the boy from District 3 are the first to arrive, even before half of the others have left their pedestals. Upon arrival, the boy from Three makes the reckless decision to dive at Johan, who pushes him aside and onto the floor before beginning his climb up the mound of supplies. Grace and Laura are just beginning to make the run into the supplies when Johan pulls a silver bow and a quiver of ten arrows from the pile, climbing further to the top of the pile before loading an arrow and firing the first shot of the Games.

It finds its target perfectly, skewering Jace of District 2 straight through the neck. He does an ungainly somersault and lands in a crooked heap on the unforgiving wooden floor.

And suddenly everyone is up in arms in the Mentor's Room, half the mentors on their feet in anger, the other half in relief. Last year, when Alec attacked Orion in the opening moments of the 67th Games, we knew that there was no true Career Alliance. They had no allegiance to each other. But this year, all of us - including Johan's mentor Gloss, apparently - thought that the Careers were acting together as a single unit once more.

The mentors from the outer districts may be loving the tension in the ranks among the Careers, but the rest of us are livid. Furious, even. Finnick, Draco and Lyme are all hurling abuse at the mentors from District 1, although I can tell from the look on Sapphire's face (she's the woman mentoring Lustre) that she wasn't expecting this. Only myself and Gloss keep our cool, remaining in our seats, headphones on, indifferent to the chaos around us.

Also indifferent to the chaos that he's caused is Johan Hurst, who does nothing to show a reaction. His eyes cold, focused. His face void of emotion. His right hand reaching for another arrow from his quiver.

And arrow that drives through the chest of Evan.

So now this is getting real. This isn't just some grudge kill against Jace for whatever reason; he's just made it clear that he's no longer working with the other Careers.

I find myself absent-mindedly biting my fingernails, hoping Johan doesn't choose to target Grace next.

Elsewhere, the boy from Three is battling with the girl from District 9 over a sword, a battle that he eventually loses. Now with blood on her hands for the first time, the girl from Nine rounds on the nearest tribute to her; the currently unarmed Lustre, who is attempting to pull a spear from the pile of supplies to defend herself with. She just manages to pull it free when Johan's next arrow disappears into her temple. She crumples immediately, and the girl from Nine chooses to make a run for it, hacking through the boy from District 6 on her way out from the bloodbath.

Sapphire has just stormed out of the door, enraged, slamming it behind her. She's not upset at her tribute's loss, as such - few of the mentors from One and Two ever are, but more angry at Gloss for his tribute's betrayal. The last thing any self-respecting tribute does is kill their district partner. I guess such rules don't apply to Johan.

I have a sudden flashback to my own Games two years ago, and when on the morning of the final day, Maddie and I were ambushed by Quintus Cato and Pearl, the girl from District One. Pinned beneath her and without a weapon, I had thought Pearl was moment's away from ending my life when one of Robin's arrows found her.

I guess Johan's older brother didn't care much for his district partner's safety, either.

Laura and Grace have now reached the pile of supplies and are desperately working together to get something good from the supplies before Johan targets them, but it is too late. The first arrow drives through the top of Grace's head, the second through Lauren's chest. Both are dead within seconds.

I stare at the screen in front of me, the camera that had been following Grace, now only showing her limp body at the base of the mound of supplies. The impact was so clean there is next to no blood. I rest my elbows on the table, my hands on my fists and breathe in deeply before looking away, back that action on screen that really no longer matters to me. Two minutes into the Games, and it is over for District 4. Evan and Grace are dead. Grace, who I knew through school for all those years, who I can remember talking to in the corridors while waiting for an English lesson, who I can remember crying into Annie Cresta's shoulder when she was about nine because she came second in a race at our school sports day.

Grace, who is all honesty was probably reaped because of my decisions.

Grace, who will become one of the forgotten faces of the Games.

I blink back tears and focus on the action on the general feed at the front of the room.

Johan may have eliminated all the Careers, but he's still yet to move from his perch at the top of the pile of supplies. The bloodbath isn't over yet. However, the other tributes are now all aware of his presence, and with nobody else having picked up a ranged weapon yet (with the exception of a spear the girl from Nine used to kill the boy from District 5), there isn't much anyone can do stop him. So the remainder of the tributes all turn on their heels and run.

And still Johan continues shooting.

I notice as his brow furrows in concentration, selecting his next target, that Johan is aiming for the highest priority targets. Those who have pulled the best weapons from the pile of supplies.

Next to fall is the girl from District 10, an arrow in her spine. Then the boy from District 12. Then Rebecca Mason.

This one I'd know about, even if I wasn't watching it on the wall in front of me, because Johanna manages to cause even more of a stir leaving than Sapphire, did, screaming and cursing between sobs, tears running freely down her cheeks and off her chin. Tears I can notice even though she tries to hide her face with her hair.

I make a mental note to try and talk to her later, once I am all done in here myself, and I've managed to calm myself down a little.

_Poor girl._

Back on the screen, Johan's also taken down the girl from District 11 before he finally stops shooting, because he's only got one arrow left, and he'd rather not leave himself unarmed. By the time he's found himself another quiver filled with twelve more, everyone else left alive is out of range.

The bloodbath is over. The cannons start firing; fourteen of them in total. Left alive is Johan Hurst of District 1; that is all that really matters. Of the other nine tributes left alive, only two of them have any form of supplies; the girls from Districts 6 and 9. The Games have only just begun, and already they seem to be over.

I take my headphones off, place them down quietly on my desk, and stand to leave the room. Once your tribute is dead, there is no reason to stay in the Mentors' Room, and so we are allowed to leave. Not that we have to; some of us don't. Likewise, we all return here to watch the finale of the Games together; it's just something that seems to be customary for victors to do. Finnick follows suit, looking even more dejected than I feel. If that's even possible at the moment. I know now that every time I think of Grace, the only image that will come to mind will be of her lying dead on the floor of the arena, an arrow through her skull. I shudder at the thought. Looking at the camera that pans the area surrounding the supplies, her body is still there as Johan takes his time picking choice supplies.

I'd better get out of here before I make myself feel any worse.

On the way to the exit, I stop beside Gloss' chair, tapping him on the shoulder and crouching down beside him. He takes off his headphones and turns to face me, a semi-vacant look in his green eyes, as though he is still trying to process exactly what's happened in the past few minutes.

"Looks like you've got this all wrapped up already," I say, half laughing, gesturing to the screens. Gloss shrugs.

"I guess we'll have to wait and see," he says. Glancing over at one of the screens on his desks, I notice three things. The first, that Johan's kill tally already reads nine. I could count on one hand the number of tributes who have killed more than ten tributes. One of them is in this room with me. The second, that the game time is only seven minutes and twenty-two seconds. Johan probably got all of those kills inside the first four minutes. And he managed it so calmly, so effortlessly. The third thing, that while District 1 don't have as much funding as District 4 before the start of the Games, Gloss already has enough to save Johan in a tough situation once, and without much competition I've no doubt more support will come flooding in soon.

Excluding a miracle or drastic Gamemaker intervention (sometimes, the two are the same thing), the 68th Hunger Games are as good as over already.

"Yeah, whatever," I say. "I'll see you for the finale."

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**A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks to mangesboy01, Jemmie and Mercoorio for reviewing the last chapter! :)**

**Apologies for the slow update, since school has started again I've had little time for writing, although now I've settled down things should be coming along a little faster from now :)**

**This chapter is probably the most informative one I've written since Second Time Unlucky, as there's a lot of world-building that will come in handy as the story progresses. Hopefully it isn't all too overwhelming...**

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**Chapter Seven**

**PoV: Ludovic Robertson (17), Hunger Games Victor**

**The Cavendish Mansion, The Capitol**

**10.00 pm, Sunday 27th July, year of the 68th Hunger Games**

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The sun set about half an hour ago, light now fading in the gardens, but it is clear that this does not stop the people of the Capitol from having a good time. The party rolls on no matter what time of day it is.

It's been a week now since Grace died, three days since Johan Hurst escaped the arena on the fifth day. I had always known it wasn't going to last long. The media are making a big deal out of his victory, in part due to how quick he won the Games, although with an arena designed the way it was the Games were never going to last much longer than a week. The other half of it is the fact that Johan racked up thirteen kills in the arena - almost a record. Only Brutus Cato, father of the boy I killed to win my Games, had a higher tally than that. And Johan was so calm through it all. I wonder what he will act like as a victor; I guess that's the million-dollar question at the moment, really. Nobody knows. We're going to have to wait a few more days to find out, after all. He's still in recovery.

Since the end of the Games, I've done what the rest of the Capitol seem to do in Games season - party. For the few weeks while the Games are on, the world seems to stop here, and everyone just has fun. I mean, sure, they have their weekends the rest of the year, but in July, the party never stops.

So I've been out enjoying myself this past week with my friends, the fellow victors my age. Finnick, obviously, but then also Cashmere, Gloss, and Johanna, who has been welcomed into the group after I brought her along to a party with us earlier in the week, back before the Games had finished and "we needed someone to replace Gloss", who was still mentoring Johan. That was how I got the others to let her come along with us. Like myself, she needs all the distractions she needs after the past week. More than me, even. She just watched her last living family member die, and there was nothing she could do about it.

But now, Johanna's one of us, and so the five of us go out each night together. Well, when we can manage it. Gloss has media commitments as he's this year's winning mentor, and Cashmere and Finnick both have ties to the Capitol government concerning their work with Marcus Crane, but for the most part, we are free to do as we please together.

Seeing as the parties are held in different places each night, we usually ask about in the centre of the city before deciding where to go to each day. Once we've decided, we just gatecrash whatever party we feel like going to. It's not like anyone cares that we do; some days, we don't get caught, and everything is fine. Other days we do, and everything is still fine. Even the most high-class Capitol citizens feel honoured by victors attending their gatherings, so when a group of victors turn up on their doorstep, they're not exactly going to throw us out, are they?

Although, for once, I am here on invitation. A personal request from Tacitus Cavendish, the rich owner of the mansion my friends have gatecrashed tonight, although I for once am actually authorised here. Why, I don't know.

I've kept a fairly low profile this evening, trying not to become too involved in the bustle of the night, as Johanna's drunk herself senseless already, and with Finnick and Cashmere away doing work for Marcus Crane, there's only Gloss and myself who can look after her. I mingle with a few Capitol citizens, help myself to the free food and drink, and just try to keep Johanna from doing anything that will cause her any serious damage. A week without her sister and she's struggling more now than ever.

At least, I keep a low profile until I feel my mobile phone vibrate in my back pocket. We've been issued the things while we're in the Capitol so that we can get in contact with anyone we need to while we have free roam of the Capitol in the grace period after the end of the Games. But it's rare that anyone tries to contact me. I presume it's Finnick or Cashmere, but when I pull the slim device from my pocket I've got a message waiting from an unknown source, which reads:

_Ludo,_

_Make your way to the gates into the herb garden at the back of the western wing. A friend shall be meeting you there._

Well, I've no idea what to make of that. Whoever it is, they know my number, but I suppose that could be any number of people within the civil service, as the government issued me with this phone. But what is this about a friend? I don't have any friends in the Capitol, not really. I know a few faces here and there, but nobody I'd call a friend.

I decide to think nothing of it.

Still, five minutes later I find myself excusing myself from my friends and drifting away from the music, drinks and laughter to venture through the unfamiliar rooms of the Cavendish mansion before arriving out on a patio platform at the head of the garden, two wings running along the sides of the garden on my left and right. Out here on the edge of the Capitol, space certainly isn't an issue. At least, not to the rich. The patio is dark, only lit by the faint glow from the party inside, the muted sound of music drifting over the cool evening. A faint orange glow - light pollution, no doubt - tinges the otherwise perfect cloudless sky. Standing outside in a tight-fitting black long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans (all of which is provided by the Capitol, it isn't my taste in clothes at all), I find myself almost shivering in the cool air as I turn to my right, following the western wing until I reach the gardens.

The herb garden is located around the back of the western wing as stated in the text message, and leaning against the wooden gates at the front of it is a young man possibly a year or two my elder, wearing all black, only visible by for the glint in his eyes as he notices my and the glossy purple streaks in his slicked back hair. His posture is casual, propping himself against the gate, arms crossed loosely across his chest. Noticing me, he steps forward somewhat to meet me halfway, offering a hand out as he speaks.

"I knew you'd show yourself," he tells me, smirking. His hand remains in the air between us. I don't make an attempt to take it. In the dim light I begin to work out his facial features, and realise that I've never seen this man before.

"Who are you?" I ask, something that I'll admit to having to ask more than my fair share of times. I hope my trips to the Capitol don't all end up leading towards impromptu meetings with strange men in hidden places at the back of mansions. But so far my track record isn't good for these things. But really, what can be worse than dealing with Marcus Crane?

"The name's Florian," the young man tells me, smiling, and not unkindly. "I'm afraid that for tonight, I'm merely serving as a messenger. It's not me who wants your time tonight."

I'm not sure what to make of that, so I just shrug. "What are you getting at?"

"I think it would be best if you just came with me. I'd rather not discuss our business here." Florian opens the gate into the herb garden and beckons for me to follow him. We weave a path through the rows of plants, most of which look unrecognisable to me, until we find a side door into the western wing. He holds the door open for me as we enter the warmth, the sounds of the party drifting back to us. I wonder for a moment whether Gloss is coping attending to an inebriated Johanna. However, Florian doesn't lead me back to the noise of the evening's celebrations. Instead, he leads me down one corridor, cutting through a study and a formal conference room, up two flights of stairs, along another corridor, finally stopping before a room at the end of the western wing. In the light of the corridors, I now see that Florian isn't wearing all black, but a dark purple business shirt, the same colour as the streaks in his hair. He's clearly not dressed for a party tonight, which is surprising to see for a Capitol man of his age.

Florian opens the door at the end of the corridor, and we enter into an observation room that runs the entire width of the western wing. Views across the whole garden, lit by the lights of the party, attract my attention for a few moments, until I notice the other people in the room with us. They sit down in chairs angled around the wide windows looking out across towards the eastern wing, relaxed in their chairs and sipping wine casually. A man in his twenties wearing a silvery suit, a young man of Florian's age with jet-black hair, a vibrant young woman scribbling furiously in a notebook. Only one of the people present do I know - the man aged around sixty wearing a formal black suit, a blood-red rose in the lapel. Tacitus Cavendish, the man who invited me here today. Maybe this was why I was the only victor to get an invitation. Because he wanted to talk to me personally.

"Ah, Ludo," he says standing to greet me. "How excellent to see you," he smiles, and I shake his hand. Although I have never met Tacitus in person, I know his name from near the top of the Capitol rich list. He's a scientist by trade, owner of the large laboratories on the edge of the city, responsible for a lot of the scientific theories and technological advancements that the Capitol has the passed on to District 3 for mass production. "Why don't you take a seat?" I do as he asks and find myself seated between the woman with the notepad and Florian.

"Thanks for inviting me up here and all," I say, gesturing at the room around me. "But can I ask why I'm here? And why are you all up here away from the party? You lot seem to be at the sort of age where you'd all want a little fun in your lives!"

"Yeah, well we don't think like most people in the Capitol, kid," the guy of Florian's age asks.

"Atticus," the girl next to me reprimands him. The dark-haired guy - Atticus - smirks and leans back in his seat.

"The reason you're up here and the reason that we're away from the party are one and the same," Tacitus explains, pacing around the room in the space in front of the rest of us. "There needs to be no record of this meeting after the six of us leave this room."

"Whoah, what are you guys?" I scoff. "Some sort of secret agency?"

"Sounds about right," the girl next to me says.

"Yeah, we're the Liberty Fighters Against Dictatorship!" Atticus says with gusto, and both Florian and Tacitus wince.

"We ain't the LF, kid," Tacitus tells him. "Don't you start thinking of us that way, either," he tells me.

"Who are the LF, anyway?" I ask.

"Nobody," the man in his twenties with the silver suit says. "At least, not anymore."

"Tell me, Ludo," Tacitus asks me calmly. "How good is your knowledge of Capitol history?"

"You mean, from before my lifetime? Awful," I say. "Can't say I've ever needed it to get by back home in Four."

"I find that unsurprising," Tacitus muses. "But maybe you'll appreciate our argument more if we tell you the whole thing from the beginning."

"The beginning? Like, back to the Dark Days?"

"Oh, no. Further back than that. Centuries, even," the man in his twenties tells me. When I stare at him, slack-jawed, he says, "Don't be so surprised. The records are out there in the Capitol for anyone to see. Unfortunately, our city doesn't seem to appreciate the value of days come to pass, although I'm sure many in your district would be dying to know what happened before the world we live in today."

"Thank you, Atellus," Tacitus says, and Atellus smiles. "Considering that you are basically a Capitol citizen yourself now, I have no problem in telling you everything. Assuming you'd want to know, of course."

"Are you kidding?" I say. "You're just offering me answers to things everyone secretly wonders about in the districts, and you think I'm even going to consider rejecting you?" I laugh. "Of course I want to hear."

"Excellent," Tacticus rubs his hands together, smiling broadly. "I might need a little help with this," he tells the others around me. Florian gets up and stands next to Tacitus in front of the rest of us, scanning the room before his eyes become set on me.

"Let's start with the simple things," Florian tells me, running a hand through his stripy hair. "Ludo, can you tell me what year it is?"

"Old dates or new?" I ask. "It's the 68th year after the Dark Days, that's easy to remember. It's the year of the 68th Games. As for old dates, we're in the thirties, right?"

"The year is 2733, yes," Atellus confirms. "Although you are correct in saying that in the past century those dates have been phased out, although it may be easier to think with them now."

"OK," I say. "So, how far back are we going?"

"Nearly a thousand years," Tacitus says. "To the Great Pacific War of 2142."

"Bloody hell," I mutter. Tacitus ploughs on, regardless.

"This nation wasn't always Panem, but once part of a larger country called the NAF."

"That's the North American Federation," Florian clarifies. I'm amazed that this guy about a year my senior knows all this, yet I know nothing of these times. I guess it shows how much a person can be moulded because of where they were born.

"The NAF fought a war against a group of other nations that no longer exist, and were thousands of miles away. Nuclear, chemical and biological warfare used on a scale neither seen before nor since. At the end of it all, with the opposition destroyed and the NAF crippled, Panem was founded from the ashes."

"The Capitol and its thirteen districts lived harmoniously and equally for the first century or so, but the ruling government in the Capitol began to become more and more elitist," Florian continues. He paces like Tacitus does, his mind as restless as his body. "The ruling body consisted, as it still does now, of the President and his Senate; that is, a handful of hand-picked advisors designated a within the government to oversee. The problems arose when the six major families all rose to ascension in the 2200s. Six bloodlines who locked out the powerful positions and spent the best part of five hundred years constantly rotating who got the top job. Rayne. Flint. Greenwood. Mason. Crane. Becker. I'm sure you recognise a few of those names as powerful figures now, right?" I nod. I've encountered the Cranes a lot in the past year. I can feel their presence looming over me wherever I go. And the current Head Gamemaker is Tiberius Greenwood.

"Eventually, the power got to their heads," Tacitus picks up the narrative. "They spent so long fighting between themselves and lusting after the power that they had taken that they lost sight of the true goal; guiding Panem out of the wreckage of the NAF and into a new era. Despite the progress that was made, the men in power became corrupted by it, and began to see themselves in a new light, as people superior to all other. And so the districts suffered, beginning a build-up of distrust and hatred between the Capitol and the districts that lasts to this day, and the class divide between those in power and the everyday citizen in the Capitol grew wider. As the decades rolled by, the support for the 'big six' waned until, finally, a member of another family claimed power - President Shawcross, who I'm sure you've heard of." I nod. Shawcross was the President at the time of the Dark Days.

"Of course, by then, the prejudices of the leading families had spread to the common people of the Capitol, and so despite somebody else finding power, Shawcross did nothing to improve relations between the Capitol and the districts. He just inherited a bad situation, especially as several of the powerful families turned against him and allied with rebellious districts, promising improved conditions for the districts if only Shawcross could be removed from power."

"And I'm sure you don't need to be reminded how well everything turned out there," Florian tells me. "The rebellion, spearheaded by a couple of powerful families in collaboration with District Thirteen, drove the Capitol for a stalemate for a few years, before the districts were slowly worn down, eventually resulting in the destruction of Thirteen, and a fall from grace for any Capitol traitors; the Flints exiled, and the Beckers finally excused years later. But fundamentally, with the exclusion of the destruction of Thirteen and the introduction of the Hunger Games, nothing actually changed."

"And that's where we come in, Ludo," Tacitus says. "For years since the Dark Days, despite the general content of the Capitol people, there is still opposition to the elitist rule of our country. And I'm certain there is plenty of discontent in the districts." I nod slowly, feeling bad to even admit to hating the Capitol. Although, of all people, I have a right to. Still, nobody is watching me, and even that small admission is enough to bring smiles to the room.

"Shawcross kept power after the Dark Days. I'm sure you know that much already," Atticus tells me. "But not everyone was happy about it. Those in the Capitol who still wanted change eventually found a way to unite again into a group known as the Liberty Fighters Against Dictatorship, commonly abbreviated as the LFAD. I don't expect you to have heard of them," Atticus adds when he sees the blank look on my face. "The Capitol never did acknowledge the existence of the LFAD on district broadcasts."

"I can remember the LF well," Tacitus says as he finally stops pacing and takes a seat next to Florian. "I was a member once, in my teenage years. Another foot soldier to the cause. A man who wanted Shawcross out, the end of the elitism of our leadership. But the LF were a powerful pressure group, often resorting to violence and terror to force their way."

"What happened to them?" I ask.

"Eventually, they got their way," Florian tells me. "Just over forty years ago, the LFAD launched a military coup, taking control of the Capitol, killing Shawcross and setting up their own leader, President Haynes. However, he barely lasted the winter before dying young in suspicious circumstances. The official verdict was food poisoning."

Atellus laughs. "Load of crap. The guy was murdered. Poisoned."

"Or so the conspiracy theorists say," Florian continues, giving Atellus a look. "It doesn't really matter now, either way. The fact is that the LFAD failed. A temporary leader came in for a couple of months to stabilise everything before standing down to let his ally Coriolanus Snow seize power, and things have stayed the same ever since."

"In case you were wondering," Tacitus says. "You'll never have heard about any of this. All you saw in District Four was Shawcross in power one summer, Snow the next. And unfortunately the latter of those two leaders is just as despicable as the former."

Well, it's out there now. A sentence like that in the wrong company and it'd be the gallows for you. Or whatever equivalent form of capital punishment they have here in the Capitol. I'm nervous about giving agreement myself, even though I'm screaming out just to nod back. In the end, I do nothing.

"The first thing Snow did when he came into power was to squash the LFAD," Tacitus finishes. "Within a year or two, there was no opposition to his rule. As I was no-one of significance within the faction, I was let off while my superiors were either imprisoned or executed. After lying low a few years, I began to start things again with my former collaborators; a new opposition, less violent and more earnest than the LFAD. Even after a decade of growth, and winning the support of all the people you have met today, we remain nameless and anonymous. I like to use the term _The Agency_ to describe ourselves, though many of our younger support us still call us the LFAD out of habit."

"In the end, the name doesn't matter; the motive does," Florian says. "And that is to remove Snow from power and set up an equal, democratic government in its place, with the unity of the twelve districts and - most importantly for you - the abolition of the Hunger Games." He lets the words hang in the air for a moment, looking intensely at me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his hands. "And we want you to join us."

I don't really know what to say to that, so I say the obvious.

"Why?"

"Because we need men in your position," Tacitus explains. "Unlike our predecessors, we don't want a military takeover - we want a popular one. That is the point of a democracy, right? The person in charge is the person that the people want in charge." Personally I don't see how he'll be able to dethrone Snow without violence, but I go with it. "What we need are people with a wide range of influence who will project our ideals."

"But I don't have influence over anyone."

"In many ways, no, but you're a victor," Atticus tells me. "People listen to you. You're a celebrity, and an A-lister at that. Just because of what you did two summers ago. Not that we support the Games, of course. Although victors do have their uses."

"So why me?" I ask. I'm still not sure I like where this is going. The threat of Snow and the government is something that I really want to avoid if I can help it.

"Because you're young. The people here haven't yet grown used to your character. They won't notice a slight change in political stance. That's all it is, really. A couple of provocative comments in a speech. Even just appearing to be allied with our members to give us more credibility. No harm will come to you through it."

No, I think, but if Crane and his friends find out about this, a lot of my friends might.

"I'll pass," I say. "I agree with you totally, but there's enough on my plate at the moment without having this to deal with."

"Really?" Atticus complains, but Tacitus cuts him off.

"I had hoped for more, Ludo, but very well," he says sombrely. "Of course, should you ever wish to join us, then a phone call is all it takes. You're missing out on a chance to actually make something change around here for once, but if you insist..."

"Yes, I'm sure." I want out. This will only cause more stress than it will relieve me of. I stand up to leave, walking slowly to the door.

"Oh, and Ludo?"

I turn around to find Florian calling after me.

"Put in a good word to Johanna Mason for us, would you? We've been trying to confront her directly for a while now, but we can't get near her without getting a rather blunt response, which could be paraphrased to 'go away'." I chuckle at that.

"Yeah, sure," I say. "I'll see what I can do." I mean it, too. The one thing she needs right now, more than anything, is a purpose in life once again. Despite the danger, this might just be enough to snap her back to reality again.

"Have a nice evening," is the last thing I hear Atellus say as I leave the polite chatter of the Capitol rebels behind, turning my back on the most dangerous and revelationary night I've had in years.

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**A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks to Jemmie, Mercoorio and mangesboy01 for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :)**

**This is the second of two fairly informative chapters, introducing the last major setting of this story into the fanfic, so there won't be so much of an information overload after this one for the remainder of the narrative. Still, I hope you enjoy reading the chapter :)**

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**Chapter Eight**

**PoV: Ludovic Robertson (18), Hunger Games Victor**

**The Training Centre, District 4**

**2.00 pm, Sunday 14th September, year of the 68th Hunger Games**

* * *

Julian leads the way into the main hall, the social and practical hub of the Training Centre, quiet now on the weekend. Only a dozen or so athletic teenagers sit at a table in the corner, eating a late lunch while playing cards. In a way, it reminds me of the old school cafeteria. Two years now since I left.

It's been a long couple of years without school. Two years as a victor with little to do during my days, but for the ten or maybe fifteen days of the year that I put into developing my talent, which I'm barely passionate about and only bother with in order to appease the Capitol. I think the monotony of life as a victor is why Julian, Harrow, Auriel and Georgie have asked me to help out at the Training Centre this year.

I wasn't sure at first about wanting to become a trainer, but the more that I think about it, the more it seems like a good thing to do. If I have nothing else to do with my time while all my friends are out working or going through school, I might as well put my days to some use. And, as a Hunger Games survivor, what could be more useful than helping the next generation of tributes prepare for the arena?

So, with the new year of training beginning tomorrow morning, Julian has decided to take today to get me up to speed with the ways things are run in the Training Centre. Despite taking up vast amounts of space in the north of our district, I doubt many people in the district have ever been in here, unless they trained for the Games in their youth. It's certainly all new to me. I remember about a decade ago there was an arena where each tribute began in a recreation of their home, and so Four's Training Centre showed up in the arena that year. That is the only time I've ever seen inside here, although things have changed a little in the decade since then.

"We'd better start at the beginning with you, then," Julian says, looking around the main hall with pride. His wild hair has been tamed to a manageable length, and when clean shaven as he is now he could pass for a relative of Finnick's. Albeit a couple of inches on the short side and a little stockier than my best friend. He won the Games just under twenty years ago, the year before I was born. I believe that makes him thirty-five now.

We walk over to a table in the corner of the hall - which serves as the Training Centre's cafeteria - before Julian dashes off to the counter to order us drinks. Upon returning with two glasses of apple juice, taking up a seat opposite me, he begins to talk.

"Training here is split up into four stages," he explains. "We'll take on anyone up to stage four, but then we only accept the best." Sounds logical. Julian pauses to take a sip of his drink.

"Stage one is for anyone under the age of twelve. That's pretty much all just improving general fitness and muscular endurance. You'll be useless in the arena if you can't run," Julian smirks. "We train boys and girls together at that age, although we split them for stage two."

"And stage two is...?" I ask.

"Strength training, and working on technique with ranged weapons, as kids aged thirteen and fourteen generally don't have enough strength to manage longswords or battleaxes, but are usually fine with bows or throwing knives. So we start on them first. Then in stage three, for the fifteens and sixteens, we teach the kids how to use melee weapons - swords, knives, you get the idea. Of course, we still keep up with training everything else, too. So you can see how the workload quickly becomes pretty intense. Although it's what the kids need to be able to succeed. We need to drill the determination into them."

"So where next after stage three?" I ask.

"At age sixteen, we make the cut," Julian explains. "Due to demands on our time in training our district's finest, we only take on the ten best boys and girl aged sixteen into the final two years. Too hard to pay attention to each trainee if the groups are much larger than that. So we filter out those who won't be able to cope and get left with the _crème de la crème_ to work with in our top-ability group. As they know all the techniques already, the seventeens and eighteens mainly just work to keep up their standard of fitness and ability, while working on the mental capability needed to survive the arena. We spend most of those last two years training them to think like victors.

"Then, in May each year, we have the trials; a mock Hunger Games held in our mini-arena in at the back of the Training Centre with blunt weapons, so nobody really gets hurt. The worst we ever get is a couple of broken ribs, maybe a concussion if we're unlucky. The winner of the trials earns the right to volunteer at the reaping that year, and gets the remaining two months before the Games to train one-on-one with us victors in preparation for the arena."

"Yeah, I know about the trials," I say. It's one part of training that seems to get out of the Training Centre for the rest of town to hear about, even though most of the Training Centre is off-limits to anyone but trainees or victors.

"Well, that's about all there is to our methods," Julian finishes, standing up, and empty glass in his hand, which he returns to the counter on the other side of the hall. Returning to me, he says, "I guess I'd better show you around, then."

* * *

Leading me away from the main hall, Julian starts by showing me the training facilities; a handful of gyms that almost look too fancy for District 4. It reminds me of how much the Capitol endorse the Training Centre, which is technically illegal, although everyone in the country knows about it. Many of them are kitted out in a similar way to the gym in the Capitol Training Centre that I used in the week before my Games, although each individual is smaller and focused on one specific area. For instance, a long gallery that runs down one side of the main passageway through the Training Centre turns out to be the archery room. I suppose they need a lot of space to help practice shooting at long distances.

The other of the main corridor branches off to a couple of large sports halls. Looking through the windows from the corridor into one of the sports halls, I see a group of ten or so boys aged around fifteen playing a game of basketball.

"We train them Monday through Saturday," Julian explains, gesturing at the boys in the sports hall. "They all get Sunday free, although a lot of the kids choose to play sports on their days off." I nod slowly, and we move on.

Eventually we end up in the main gym, a light, spacious room filled with weight machines, treadmills and various endurances machines, aimed to improve overall fitness. The are a half-dozen teenagers working out on the weights as we walk in, and they offer a courteous nod to both Julian and myself as we enter. It feels strange to automatically have some sort of authority. The room has a door at either end; the one that Julian and I walked through, leading into the Training Centre, and the door opposite, leading out into District 4.

"The gym is the one part of the Training Centre that is open to anyone in District 4 for free," Julian tells me. "Which makes it important for us. It gives us an opportunity to 'scout' kids who, for whatever reason, have never bothered to sign up for training. So it gives us a chance to find teenagers with potential who we can lure into the Training Centre. As such, there's usually someone keeping an eye on the gym." Julian points out Auriel sitting in the far corner, watching over the kids working the weights. He smiles and waves at us as he notices us looking at him.

From there, Julian leads us away from the main building, leading out into the grounds at the back of the Training Centre. There's a large open grass space, penned in by the high stone walls that surround the Training Centre, an athletics track taking up about half the field space. The larger and flatter of the two, Julian tells me, is where the trainees live.

"There's roughly a fifty-fifty split between trainees who live here on site and trainees who live down in the town with the rest of the district," he tells me as we walk across the field, the bright September sun shining down on us. "There's no real benefit either way, but there's a great community feel between everyone up here. At least, there are at the younger ages. Once the cut happens and we get down to the last year or so, everyone starts getting really competitive. But that's a matter for another day."

To my surprise, we don't bother going into the trainees' dorms, but instead venture to the smaller of the two buildings, which is basically a two-story house, albeit a large one.

"Victors' quarters," Julian explains with a smile as we reach the building. "You can get in using your house key from Victors' Village." He pulls his own house key from his pocket, shoves it into the lock, twists it, and the door swings inwards smoothly. We step inside, and I feel at home almost instantly. The entrance hall has been designed much in the same style as the houses in Victors' Village, and I'm sure the rest of the house is designed in the same way. I can't resist smiling.

"Not bad, eh?" Julian grins, noting my smile. I just laugh. "We use it because, at any time, we need someone to remain on site. Just in case a problem arises for some of the kids in the middle of the night; they need someone to turn to. So we have this house for someone to stay in to be there for the children if they need us." I nod in understanding. It's a sensible safety precaution.

"Oh, and there are a few other perks, too," Julian says, a devious smile on his face once more. I can see how much pride he takes in this place just by how much enthusiasm he has in showing me round. He leads me through the house towards a staircase that spirals downwards into the basement, which opens out into a small yet perfectly functional gym, white light flooding down from the roof, light blue walls giving the room a cold, precise feel. As though everything has been engineered to perfection.

"I guess the Capitol really do like us," I say, and this time Julian is the one to laugh.

"Yeah," he says. "At least, enough to give us our own private gym." He walks through the gym towards one of two rooms leading off the back of the gym. The basement is no doubt more spacious than either floor above it. The first room he shows me has a wall of weapons and practice targets and dummies; again just a private, perfectly set up version of the training spaces over in the main building.

The second room, I don't expect.

"Surprise!" Julian exclaims as he leads me into the long room, with an array of targets set up along the room's length, up to about seventy yards away, just like any normal archery range would. But there are black chips and dents in the targets, not the usual tears caused by arrowheads. Only when I turn to face the wall on the side of the door do I understand.

The whole wall is covered with guns. Everything from ancient-looking pistols to seemingly military-grade assault rifles. A whole arsenal, hidden in a basement underneath the District 4 Training Centre.

"I think the Capitol wanted to give us something as a reward for training their tributes for them when they helped us build this place a few decades back," Julian laughs, picking up a revolver off the wall and firing a half dozen bullets down the range. Five of them hit the target furthest from us, against the wall at the other end of the room. I guess he's had more than his fair share of practice down here. "It's a lot of fun, as I'm sure you can see," he tells me, replacing the revolver on the wall. "I'd hazard a guess that we're the only people with access to guns outside of the Capitol. Excluding Peacekeepers, of course. Now we've made their Games a success, they've become more trusting of us. Of course, we can't actually take the guns anywhere," Julian adds, pointing up at CCTV cameras in each corner of the room. "They'll know we're onto something if we try to take anything out of the basement. But at least we're trusted a little, eh?"

I nod, and for a few moments we stand in silence in the firing range, as though the tour is now over, and Julian doesn't know where to go now.

"So," he says after a long pause. "Are you in?" He's referring to the offer he made a couple of weeks back, the offer for me to become a trainer alongside him here in the Training Centre. "Is there anything else you want to ask?"

Smiling, I speak up without hesitation. "Just one thing," I say. "When do I start?"

Julian shakes my hand and pulls me in for a firm hug, clapping his free hand across my back as he does. As he pulls back, he's smiling.

"First thing tomorrow morning."

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**A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks to Jemmie for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :)**

**Apologies again for how long this chapter took to write. I will hopefully get quicker with the updates again at some point soon. School's just taking so much time away from me at the moment :/**

**Still, I hope you enjoy this chapter :)**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**PoV: Ludovic Robertson (18), Hunger Games Victor**

**The Training Centre, District 4**

**8.30 am, Monday 15th September, year of the 68th Hunger Games**

* * *

I unwrap from my coat as I enter into the main hall, Julian and Auriel by my side. Georgie and Harrow had stayed overnight yesterday, so the three of us walked over to the Training Centre from Victors' Village together. I shudder involuntarily as May, one of the kitchen staff, presses a hot chocolate into my hands. The weather has turned overnight - this morning feels unseasonally cold. Thankfully, I'll be inside all day. I nod my thanks and she leaves us be as we head towards our offices in the administrative part of the building. There are lessons to plan, teaching timetables to learn.

I follow Auriel through into his office, where he reaches into a folder on one of the lower shelves, and pulls out a sheet of paper with the details of what I'll be doing this week.

"It's the start of the year, so there's nothing too strenuous going on this week," Auriel tells me with a smile. "We're mostly just getting baseline tests sorted to see where everyone stands after the summer break. Get everyone up to speed again. And it'll give you a good chance to see what everyone is capable of."

"As you never had a proper training yourself before the Games, it's probably best if the specialist weapons training with those aged thirteen to sixteen is left to those who were properly trained themselves," Julian tells me. "Which rules me out for the most part, too. Of course, you've shown a knack with ranged weapons, so you'll probably take the odd class, but for the most part you'll be working with the under-thirteens and the top class. As I was saying yesterday, stage four of training is basically just keeping fitness and technique while working on the mental aspect of the Games, which you're more than capable to help the seventeens and eighteens with that; you've actually been through the arena, after all."

Auriel hands me my timetable for the week, and I glance down it. Just two training sessions today.

"As it's your first week, there will always be someone else helping you with your classes, just to help ease you into the job," Auriel tells me.

"Thanks," I say, finishing the hot chocolate I brought with me from the main hall.

"Well, look lively," Auriel says, heading towards the door. "You've got the stage one group first - the under-thirteens. They're my preferred class, so you'll be with me this morning. And, according to the timetables that Harrow drafted up last week, we're in gym four, so you'd better follow me so we can take a look at the new recruits."

I set off at Auriel's quick walking pace down the corridors towards the gym, trying to get more information from him as we walk.

"You say the under-thirteens are your preferred class," I say between breaths as I try and keep up with Auriel's aggressive pace. Not an easy task when he's half a foot taller than me. "What do you mean by that?"

"Although we all teach every age group, we all have certain classes we are more suited to teaching. Things we are better at. So we spend more time with that age group than the others. I specialise in stage one, Georgie in two, Harrow in three and Julian in stage four, although I imagine you'll probably be sharing Julian's workload. The seventeens and eighteens need all the support they can get at that intense stage. It's been a good few years since I was a stage four trainee, but I can honestly say I've never worked so hard in my life, either before or after."

We arrive at the gym, bright and spacious with sky blue walls and wooden flooring covered in training mats. I'm not entirely sure what we're doing, until Auriel calls the twenty or thirty kids in the room to attention, and they crowd around us. He introduces me and, for the most part, does all the talking. Working with kids aged eight through to twelve, we can't exactly introduce them to the serious part of the Training Centre yet; there are no weapons at this age, not even any fighting. General fitness is the important point here.

Auriel splits the groups into two, drags the mats to one side and pulls out a bag of athletics equipment - javelins, discuses, relay batons, you name it - and sets it down on the floor in front of the kids.

"Right, then," he says. "What do you all want to do?"

Eventually the group decide they want to do some relay races, so Auriel and I organise the children into groups, splitting up the older kids to try and ensure a fair race, and start up a tournament to decide the fastest team. The kids all seem to get into it, and the whole thing works really well. The children are getting a workout, and everyone enjoys themselves.

"It feels just like being a PE teacher back at the school," I say to Auriel in the middle of one of the heats. He smiles.

"I guess it does," he says. "I think that's half the reason I like training them at this age. We just play sports all day. Do fun things. There's no weapons, no killing. Just a bunch of kids having fun."

I nod, and realise just how right he is. There is no pressure at this age. No worries. It seems odd to think that, given five years or so, all these children will be able to wield a bow and a sword better than I ever could. But for now, all they know is how to enjoy themselves. The rest will come later.

Still, I have to admit it's fun to work with them at such a young age.

* * *

The morning passes quickly, although I miss the last half-hour or so of the training session as I have to take a girl called Imogen over to the first aid area after she went over on her ankle and landed badly on her side. But thankfully, there's nothing seriously wrong with her. I just tell her to be careful and get some rest. As she skips away back towards the district with a couple of her friends after the session, I can't help but smile. It'd have been awful if the day (and indeed, the year) had started with an injury.

I meet with the other victors in the main hall at lunch, making small talk about the morning with the other victors. I begin to see more and more how close this group of four are, despite their differences. I have always been closer to Finnick and Mags than the other victors, and now I start to pick up pieces of the others' stories that they would normally neglect to tell me if they were talking to me one on one.

Georgie, the oldest of all the trainers and the only woman, sounds less enthusiastic than the others about the start of the new year than the others. I guess by your early forties, years of training up tributes to die can really take something out of you. Still, I think it's better to help them go into the arena well prepared, rather than just watching a girl who can't save herself get killed. Maybe after more than two decades, you begin to get fed up. Georgie jokes about how as soon as another girl gets through the arena and can take her place, she's out of here. The others last, but despite her tone of voice, I think she's being serious. She just can't leave the Centre to become run by an all-male group of victors.

Auriel chooses to train the younger children because he wants to help, but mentally can't cope with the stress of training the older trainees. Raised in the Training Centre from a young age, choosing to live in the dorms here throughout his teenage years, Auriel struggles with the older groups because the pressure brings back memories of his arena. He won the year that each tribute arrived in a twisted, distorted version of their own homes when they entered the arena. Auriel had thought he was safe, but the arena version of District 4's Training Centre was filled with traps, and he still struggles to cope with being back here, even now. He wants to help, but his mind will go into meltdown if he gets involved too much. So he stays away from the weapons and just helps the kids have fun.

Despite his long black hair and brooding looks, Harrow is a stereotypical Career tribute in every other sense of the word. He trained here for almost a decade of his youth, winning the trials aged eighteen and volunteering for the 48th Annual Hunger Games, which he won. He signed up as a trainer three months after his Games and hasn't done much else since. A product of the Training Centre passing on his knowledge to the next generation of tributes. I remember he had taken a liking to Alec Flood, the boy I mentored last summer, through the year of training him, and was struggling for a while in the months following his death. Harrow's sorrow was one of the main reasons I felt so bad after losing out at the last minute in the 67th Games. But thankfully, the hardened victors seems to be well on the mend a year on.

By contrast, Julian never set a foot in the Training Centre until after he had won his Hunger Games, the year after Harrow did. He seems to have less of a mean streak than Harrow and Georgie, less fragile than Auriel. I suppose that's why he trains the oldest group in the Training Centre. He has excellent judgement. Unlike the others, his mind isn't clouded by his past. He just focuses on getting the job done. Forever the optimist, Julian works at the Training Centre because he never wants another child from District 4 to enter the arena as unprepared as he once was.

It seems incredible to me that two people with such contrasting morals and life stories, such as Julian and Harrow, can be such good friends. But somehow it seems to work.

* * *

"I take it you're considering mentoring in the Games again next summer?" Julian asks me as we walk together towards the weapons rooms at the back of the Training Centre.

"Can't say I've thought that far ahead," I shrug. "I guess so. Why'd you ask?"

"Fair enough," he replies. "Of course, if you were to mentor, would you prefer the boys or the girls?"

"The girls," I say. "Can't say I had much luck with Grace last year-" I pause a moment, forcing an image of Grace's bloodied body sprawled on the floor of the arena out of my head. "- but I'd be willing to give it another shot."

"OK. I'm just wondering because, if you're going to be mentoring the girl next summer, it'd make more sense for you to spend most of your time training the girls, right? Because that way you'll know what your tribute better before the Games begin, and you can have strategies sorted months in advance?"

"Yeah," I say. "Good idea. Can't say I've ever really thought about that before. Let's go with it."

"Guess it's the sort of planning that comes with spending years as a trainer. Our tributes have seemed to do better the years that the mentors knew them better."

* * *

We walk into the foyer at the centre of the weapons area of the Training Centre. With the exception of the lengthy archery room, all the other weapons rooms are located off of one central area; a bright, open foyer, with light blue tiled flooring and a large skylight in the centre of the room. It really does feel like a Capitol-designed building, which I'm sure it probably was. I doubt District 4 could spare enough money to design something as flash as this in a century, and yet the Training Centre has been here since before my parents were born.

As Julian and I enter the room, a group of twenty teenage girls turn to face us. The most promising trainees District 4 currently has. I remember the young boys and girls I was with this morning, running and laughing, wearing loose t-shirts and shorts, cheap District 4 shoes. Now, I'm at the other end of the spectrum; these girls are hard-core. Long hair tied back, skin-tight Capitol-endorsed sportswear and an array of expensive, custom made Capitol trainers, they look just like the Careers I met during my three days of training in the Capitol before my own Hunger Games. Several stand in small groups, laughing and chatting to each other, seemingly friends. I presume these are the seventeen-year-olds who have recently made the cut and joined stage four. Elsewhere in the room a handful of sullen, solitary figures lurk behind the girls a year below them, uncommunicative and standoffish. These are the eighteens; those that have committed to a year of stage four training that has seemingly sapped the joviality from their features. Most of them, anyway.

But whether they are conversing with the younger girls or sulking in the corners, one thing all the girls in the top year share is the sense of rivalry between them. Ten girls vying for the same place, with only one winner. The right to volunteer at the reaping is what's up for grabs.

Even then, one of them might not win. They could be usurped by one of the seventeen-year-olds.

There's another strange thing I don't understand about the Training Centre. All the age groups are named after the age of those trainees at the next reaping, which throws me off at this time of year. Despite officially working with the seventeens and eighteens, half the girls in the group are still sixteen, and from scanning down the list of names on the register for the group, there's only one girl who is already eighteen.

Still, all the girls gather around as Julian and I enter the room, forming a silent centre circle around us. Julian speaks to the group as a whole, about how I will be becoming their lead trainer this year, although I only half listen to him. I'm scanning down the list of names on the register, reading comments that Harrow has left about each of the girls I will be training this year. A few names seem almost familiar to me as I look down the list, but then one really does stand out.

Katherine Wright.

When did Katherine start training here at the centre? Last I knew, she was still up at the school with Dylan and the others. I scan through the crowd, and I spot her standing near the back, watching Julian intently, her long blond hair pulled back into a plait, her black training gear so different from the loose dresses that I often see her wearing around the district. I wonder why, in all the times I've met her during the past year, she never mentioned that she'd been signed on for stage four. Come to think of it, I don't even remember her being a part of the Training Centre when we were at school together.

This, I shall have to get to the bottom of.

Still, I manage to push the thoughts to one side as Julian passes the reins over to me for a moment, letting me address the group myself. I know what I'm going to say already; Julian and I already have the afternoon all planned out.

"Well, we're all new here today," I say. "A new job for me, a new stage of training to any of you who are seventeen this year, a new group of classmates for those who are eighteen. So the best thing we can do today is get to know each other, in the way that matters the most. Let's just say that we'll be running a few basic tests in the next few days, to see where everyone stand with their fitness levels and ability with various weapons. So we're starting today by testing out your hand to hand combat, by holding a competition here in the foyer. Five minute time limits per fight, with victory conditions of submission or knockout. We'll bring in a few training mats and lay them down in the centre beneath the skylight. It's going to be a straight knockout tournament; you lose, you're out." I let a smile creep onto my lips. "May the best girl win."

* * *

If I'm honest, I'm not too bothered who actually wins and loses as the tournament progresses. I just want to see what each girl is capable of. To see where they each stand if all the weapons are removed from the game. From that viewpoint, at least, the afternoon is a successful one.

The tallest and strongest of all the girls is Ariel, nearly six feet tall and with arms as thick as my calves. She's not the most manoeuvrable, but once she gets into range (and believe me, it's easy with her long arms) she can manhandle anyone who dares challenge her. Still, from observing her, she doesn't come across as intimidating towards the others. She spends most of the time while she isn't fighting sitting with a group of seventeens, chatting away during the other fights. As though she's not that interested in what else is going on.

The opposite can be said for eighteen-year-old Brooke, a tiny yet brave girl who leads the group in terms of looks - or, more importantly, potential sponsor support. As with Ariel, she would have been in my year at school, but she's spent most of the past few years here in the Training Centre, so I don't know her. Small and nimble, her strengths are definitely not in hand-to-hand combat, although she finds it easy to weave her way out of a confrontation, dodging and ducking her opponents' strikes for most of her fights. Although Brooke is still likely to be overpowered by some of the larger male Careers, I'm sure she has strengths in other areas that would make her a serious challenger in the Games.

Another important factor in these fights is confidence - a lot of the momentum in a bout is based on the mentality of the two girls, and this gives a massive advantage to Paige, a girl a couple of inches taller than me with long dark brown hair, who seems to be in excellent shape and really know her stuff when it comes to fighting. Although it's very clear that she knows she knows what she's doing. For all her ability, arrogance is her downfall; she's eliminated early in the afternoon, losing by knockout to Ariel after diving in too quickly. Overconfidence is a dangerous flaw for any tribute.

For all-round ability, the pick of the trainees would have to be Katherine. Her technique might not be as perfect as Paige's, and she might not be as strong as Ariel, but she has an excellent blend of strength, speed and stamina that gives her an edge against nearly all of her competitors. Despite regularly seeing her with my friends around the district over the past couple of years, I'll admit that I never knew how fit she is. There's probably no more than an ounce of fat on her body. Nothing is wasted with her. But as I watch her bouts as the afternoon progresses and see the way her muscles press against the taut skin of her limbs and across her stomach, I know that she's arguably in better shape than anyone else in the Training Centre, never mind the group.

To be frank, I'm amazed I never noticed it before.

The only other girl who really stands out is a short girl with scraggly auburn hair called Coral, who sits alone away from the mats when resting, seemingly putting all of her efforts into glaring as strongly as possible at the trainees who are fighting. Once she steps up to the mat, however, she is as sly and cunning as they come.

But the afternoon draws to a close, and as with all tournaments, there must be a winner. I can't say I'm surprised when Ariel defeats Katherine in the final bout. At least, I'm not surprised that Ariel has won; she's definitely the powerhouse of the group. I don't even know what to make of Katherine, though. I never imagined even seeing her in the Training Centre, never mind finding out she's one of the most promising trainees for next summer's Games.

This is only a small chunk of my testing this group of trainees, and I already know I'm going to have a lot on my mind when I lie in bed at the end of the evening.

There is plenty I need to evaluate before finding out what the next test brings tomorrow.

* * *

**A/N: In a 'traditional' Hunger Games fanfic, this chapter would signal the end of chapter one, although this story's going to have more chapters than its predecessors, so we've got a little while to go in this stage of the narrative. Just thought I'd clear that up. Still, I hope you've enjoyed the early stages of this story, which for now is going to settle down a little as we see more and more of what happens to the Training Centre and the people within it in future chapters :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thanks to Jemmie, mangesboy01 and Cheive for reviewing! The support is appreciated :)**

**Sorry if this chapter took a little while to come together. It took a fair amount of work to get the right scene to play out. If I'm lucky, I might be able to get another chapter finished by the weekend, though, so it's not all bad news :)**

**I hope you enjoy today's chapter :)**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

**PoV: Ludovic Robertson (18), Hunger Games Victor**

**The Training Centre, District 4**

**7.30 pm, Wednesday 17th September, year of the 68th Hunger Games**

* * *

The halls of the Training Centre are quiet as I patrol through late in the evening, as the sun sets over District 4 outside. The only sounds are my feet against the cold tiled floor and the distant rumble of doors opening and closing. The cafeteria in the main hall is now shut, with dinner now having been served, and the trainees have either headed back towards the dorms behind the main building or back to their homes in the district. There might be half dozen or so people working in the gym after a shift down at the docks, but it's not my turn to monitor the gym. That's Harrow's responsibility tonight. Instead, I get the job of patrolling the corridors for raucous kids and hooligans until the main building is shut at nine in the evening. Not the most exciting job in the world, but certainly an easy one.

It's been a long day. I was covering a lesson for the thirteens and fourteens earlier today with Georgie, teaching the youngsters how to hold a bow well. It's just target practice at this early stage, nothing more than that. Just getting them to learn the basic stance and how to aim. No violence implied. Not yet.

In the afternoon, I took the stage four girls' class for the third day running, setting more baseline tests to determine what we need to work on this year. Yesterday, in our melee weapons tournament, Paige and Katherine outshone the rest, using swords, axes and maces to show their strengths ahead of the others.

Today, the results were different. When it comes to ranged weapons, Brooke leads the competition by quite a way. Paige seems strong enough, too, although she was a distant second. Ariel and Katherine, however, barely manage to make an impression at all. It seems like nobody really stands out all that much as I get to know the girls better, which I suppose is a good thing. Everyone is capable of being the best.

In the empty halls, I can hear the echoes of the few eager men and women putting in an hour's work up at the gym. Passing by, I spot a group of lads in their early twenties working out on the weights machines. None of them notice me hovering in the doorway, but Julian does as he keeps watch over the gym. He gives me a slight nod of recognition, which I reciprocate before moving on.

It doesn't take me long after leaving the gym behind me to realise that I can still hear the noise of someone training ahead of me. The sound of activity elsewhere in the Training Centre. Not the metallic clang of lifting weights, but a duller thud, repetitive in short bursts with uneven pauses in between, intermittent groans that could be of effort or frustration. Quietly walking through the corridors away from the gym, I follow the sound.

Ending up walking through a maze of corridors I don't recognise, I end up hovering at the door to what appears to be a fairly generic training room; to be more specific, it is one of the knife-throwing rooms that has had other kit dragged into it. A couple of punching bags stand redundant in one corner, a pair of axes and a bow lie discarded on the floor. Three archery targets and a cloth mannequin stand against the far wall, at the other end of the long room from the door. A pair of arrows are embedded in the chest of the mannequin, with a dozen more driven into the padded wall behind it or lying on the floor beneath it.

However, the only thing that really grabs my attention is the scene in the centre of the room. A wooden stool stands alone in the centre of the room, an open chest perched atop it, half full of throwing knives. Next to the chest stands a girl, a half-dozen knives in her hands, poised to throw.

Katherine.

She looks as she has done all this week, wearing her skin-tight sportswear, bare arms and long blonde hair plaited back in a way that seems totally alien to me. She never tied her hair back before. Not around me, at least. To be honest, everything I've seen her do so far this weeks seems totally against the image of the calm, content girl I've known for years. During what I've seen of her in training, she's approached every task with a fierce determination that I've never seen in her before. As though something about training has invigorated her; pushed her to a new level.

I stand back, leaning against the door frame as I watch her throw her next six knives. Two completely miss the target, one hits it but bounces off, and the other three sink into the board but score poorly, a fair distance from the middle. I watch her grab six more from the chest to her right, paying closer attention to her technique as she throws again, only to achieve similar results. Before she can retrieve her knives, I speak out to her, walking slowly towards her in the centre of the room.

"You know, you need to stand more sideways-on if you want to get more accurate." My voice startles her at first, but she turns around to face me, smiling when she realises who it is, her blue eyes glistening in the artificial light from the ceiling. I stand next to her, leaning against the stool. I press on with my advice. "To be honest, you're doing alright as you are," I say, trying to encourage her. "You've remembered the thing most trainees forget; you have to move through with your whole arm, not just pivot from the elbow. You need to lean into it. So that's good; the power is definitely there." I neglect to mention that, from looking at the well-toned muscles in her arms, she'd have no trouble getting enough power even with horrendous technique.

"The thing is, by standing head-on to the target, when you throw using all of one side of your body, you're moving your arm across yourself as you throw, so the knife is going to go on a diagonal somewhere over there." I point to the left of the target, where all of her knives have ended up. Even the ones that hit the target just scraped onto the left edge of it. "If you stand side-on to the target, you can throw using the momentum of your whole body, and it'll still go straight. And the harder you throw it, the less it'll weave about in flight. Providing your grip is good, of course."

"Like this?" Katherine asks, showing me the knife in her palm, her four fingers curled lightly around the handle, her index finger almost resting against the blunt side of the blade.

"Yeah," I smile. "Like that." She smiles back and takes care towards throwing her weapon towards the targets. This time it sticks much closer to the centre of the archery target - she would have scored a six.

"See?" I say. "Improvement already."

Katherine smirks. "Thanks, Ludo."

"No problem," I say. "It is my job, after all." She chuckles slightly at that.

"What?" I ask.

"I dunno," she shrugs. "Just seems kinda weird that you're my superior here, yet for years we've been peers at school."

"Yeah, it does seem a little odd," I say, scratching the back of my head to keep my hands occupied rather than fidgeting with them, as I often do when I go to ask something I probably shouldn't. "How come you're here at the Training Centre, anyway?" I know I should have asked sooner, really. For the past three days, despite my desire to know and Katherine deliberately trying to talk to me several times during the day, I've just been acting like she was just another trainee, and not one of my friends. I don't know why, really. It just felt like the right thing to do at the time, even if it meant sort of ignoring her.

"I wondered when you'd ask," she smirks, relaxing a little from the intense person she was five minutes ago training. Sensing a long conversation, I close the lid on the box of knives, put it down at the floor by my feet, and perch myself on the wooden stool. "Keep throwing while we talk," I say to Katherine. "It won't do us any harm." She nods and continues practising.

"I never really planned on joining the Training Centre as a kid," she tells me. "I didn't even consider it until just over a year ago. I mean, I always used to come up to the gym in the evenings, ever since I was about twelve. But that was just for my fitness. I never wanted to learn to fight."

"I never knew you used to come up to the gym," I say, surprised she's never told me before.

"I didn't tell many people," she replies. "I told Annie about it, so I guess Dylan knows too. Other than that, I don't think anyone should know. It wasn't the sort of thing a girl should really be doing. Most of the other girls at school wanted to swim in the bay or sit around gossiping over things that mattered to nobody, and even less people cared about. It doesn't really go down well with those sorts of people when you say you want to go and work out."

"I can imagine," I chuckle. I can't even visualise Annie or Maria in a gym very easily. They'd never do it.

"But anyway, I'd been coming here for a good three or four years by the time Julian began to take notice of me," Katherine continues, as she throws another knife - her first seven of the day. "He'd been watching me come to the gym every day for a while when he began to take notice of me last summer. He said that my age were running short on trainees who were able to make the cut to stay on for stage four of training. He wanted ten girls, but only had eight. So he offered me a place to start stage four in September last year."

"But you hadn't done any of the previous weapons training," I say.

Katherine shrugs. "That's what I told Julian when he asked me," she says. "But he said it didn't matter. That it'd be hard work to catch up, but if I had private sessions with him two evenings a week, he'd help teach me everything I've missed."

"So that's why you're down here today?"

"Sort of. Being the first week back, he's too busy to offer me any help tonight, but left a room open for me, anyway." Katherine walks over to the targets to collect her knives. "Which makes it handy that you showed up," she grins.

"Glad to be of service," I say, and she smiles again.

"In case you're wondering, he spent last year teaching me all about melee weapons, so I've never really tried ranged weapons much before," she admits, as though she's making excuses for her ability.

"Well, you're not that bad," I say. "At least you weren't the worst in the baseline test."

"Yeah, but is ninth out of ten much better?" she challenges me, giving me a pointed look.

"Still, you're not the worst," I repeat. "And considering the amount of training you've had compared to everyone else, that's an achievement."

"I guess so," she says, starting to throw again. "But anyway, after Julian offered me a place here, I quit school and took up the offer," Katherine finishes. "Even if I'm not the best come next May and I don't win the trials, I'll have enjoyed this far more than I would have enjoyed two more years of school."

"And what if you do win the trials?" I ask. As much as I want to help train Katherine for the Games, I'm not sure I like the idea of her actually competing in them next summer. I've already had to watch two of my friends go through the arena. First Finnick, then Maddie. I don't think I could cope with another.

"Then I'd like to think that, being the best girl District 4 has to offer, I should be good enough for the Games come next summer."

"I'd like to hope so, too," I say. "But it's still early days, right? Who knows what will happen this year."

"Yeah," she says thoughtfully. Who knows?"

After that, talk ventures back to training, and I work together with Katherine on improving her skill with throwing knives. Although it's slow progress at first, she begins to learn the new stance and as the evening progresses she manages to hit the high-scoring zones of the target more and more often, before eventually hitting her first ten.

"Congrats," I say to her at that point. "Although considering how many knives you've thrown already this evening, you should've really hit it half an hour ago, even just throwing randomly.

"Thanks for the support, Ludo. Very encouraging," Katherine says, rolling her eyes at me, although she knows I'm trying to wind her up.

I laugh.

Eventually, I hear a knock against the open door behind us, and turn around to find Julian standing in the doorway, smiling.

"I see you've found Katherine," Julian says, as though I've never met her before, although I know that's not what he means.

"Yeah," I say. "I hear you're giving her extra training this year?"

"Sounds about right," he replies. "Everything going OK this evening?"

"Yeah," Katherine smiles. "Ludo's just been giving me some tips for throwing knives."

"That's good," Julian says. "Anyway, I'd love to talk, but I need to dash. Now the gym's shut, I've got to head back over to the house to keep an eye on everyone in the dorms. Ludo, as you two are the only ones left in the building, remember to lock up when you leave?"

"Sure thing, Julian," I say. "Take care."

"You too," he replies, and then he is gone.

"Has he really already closed the gym for the night?" Katherine says.

"He must have," I say. "Guess I've been down here a lot longer than I thought I had."

"Yeah," Katherine says, still smiling. "But I guess time flies when you're having fun, right?"

I smirk. "I guess it does."

* * *

**A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks to mangesboy01, Cheive and Jemmie for reviewing! The support is appreciated :)**

**Again, sorry if it's been a little while since the last update, I've been writing for other projects, such as _75 Games: After the Mockingjay_. Still, hopefully you enjoy the chapter :)**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**PoV: Ludovic Robertson (18), Hunger Games Victor**

**The Training Centre, District 4**

**9.00 am, Thursday 17th October, year of the 68th Hunger Games**

* * *

Being my first week staying in the house at the back of the Training Centre, I was up and ready in plenty of time to start the day's training. Still, I was the last to arrive when I turned up to gym one just off the main hall at nine in the morning. Any issues with punctuality were ironed out of these girls years ago. The Training Centre revolves around its timetables and schedules.

Knowing them a lot better now than when I first trained them a month ago, the twenty girls in this year's stage four class have the potential to go far. The eighteen-year-olds understandably more than the seventeens, but there are many names that I could see volunteering for the Games in nine months' time.

One thing that I have noticed a change with, for better or worse, is how much the jovial attitude of the younger girls has been sapped from them. When they first stepped up to stage four, they were a happy bunch, often standing around in groups, laughing and giggling while waiting for instructions. Now they have been forced to take a more distant stance; the stresses of a more intense stage of training have taken their tolls on the girls; they have to take everything more seriously just to be able to keep up.

Of course, that's still one step back from the hostility that the eighteen-year-old girls show each other. Despite what I've found to be a great community attitude among everyone working in the Training Centre, I'm sad to say the same cannot be said for the girls in their final year. The competitive element of training - striving to be the best girl here by the trials next May - has led to tension within the group, which has probably been building since way back last year, but has definitely been rising since my arrival a month ago. Only Katherine, who has known nothing of the Training Centre but for the intensity of stage four training, doesn't seem bothered by it. For her, this is par for the course.

"Gather round, everyone," I say as I enter the gym to see twenty young female faces looking in my direction. "I'd better explain exactly what's going on today." After my first week, I've taken all my classes on my own, and as long as I make sure that all the girls are taught everything by the end of the year, the other victors give me control over what sessions I run for my trainees.

"As you all know, there are four parts of stage four training," I explain. "Situational judgement, initiative and improvisation, physical fitness and weapons proficiency, and climate training. Of course, three of these are new to our stage, and we've already met the first two so far this year." There are murmurs and nods of assent from the girls in front of me. A couple of the younger girls still hold the same excited enthusiasm as they would have had last year, and Paige glares at them from the back of the group.

"As I told you all yesterday, we're making good progress this year, so we're able to start climate training a couple of days early. Because we only have one specialised climate room, it's only able to be used by stage four trainees. So consider yourselves lucky that we get use of this now." I smirk. "Basically, we're going to be working on weapons proficiency over the next couple of months, with the twist being that we're going to get used to working in a variety of temperatures and conditions, so that you won't feel out of place in whatever environment you're thrown into. This'll include learning how to stay manoeuvrable wearing all sorts of gear that could be used to battle the temperatures, as well as throwing in a couple of sessions at night to deal with fighting in reduced visibility." The more that I think about it, climate training is one of the most important parts of a Career tribute's training. It's the one thing that I could have really done with myself in the deserts of my arena. Thinking back, it basically ruled out the possibility of moving around during the day, and when we did so, it was at a crawling pace, sticking to the shade of the forest. The dangerous climate severely limited me during the Games, something that trained Careers would suffer from less.

For today, I've given the trainees free training in the spacious gym one, which can cater to everyone's needs. It's basically a scaled down version of the gym in the Capitol's Training Centre, designed to let trainees have a go at a bit of everything. Today, I've let everyone choose what they want to work on. One thing that is different in comparison to the Capitol gym is that our gym one has an adjustable thermostat and air conditioning system which lets us mimic the conditions from previous Hunger Games. The Capitol really did spare no expense when they built this place decades ago.

I walk over to the touchscreen control panel for the air con that is embedded into the clean white wall by the entrance door, and unlock it using my house key from Victors' Village, which gets you anywhere in the Training Centre too. The air con for the room currently has sixty-eight settings available; one for each past Hunger Games. Nearly all the time, it is set on it's default setting - _50_. The year with perfect temperature, perfect humidity. Checking the screen, that's the setting we're currently using. I sort the settings from hottest to coldest, with _25_ at the top of the list and _53_ at the bottom. As it's the first day of climate training, it's best if I don't choose anything too extreme. In the end I decide on the conditions used in the 5th Hunger Games - about three or four degrees warmer than the current levels. Giving it a few minutes to adjust the settings, I return to see how my trainees are performing.

A month in, and I know who the stars of the group are. Of the girls aged seventeen, only two really stand out; the two who have applied themselves to the more rigorous regime the best. Of the eighteens, Paige remains the strongest candidate, although I'm seeing vast improvements in Katherine, as our evening sessions improve her more and more. Since the first week, I've asked Julian if I could take over the position of attending her private sessions in his place. He didn't seem too bothered by it, and progress has been good since then.

Aside from Paige, Coral remains a capable Career-to-be, clever and constantly ahead of the game whenever we take part in team activities. Ariel is physically the most intimidating of the girls, although she lacks the killer instinct that I see all to quickly in some of the other faces, especially when looking at her. Ariel has done nothing to befriend herself to the other girls in the past month, and has antagonised herself from them through no fault of her own, simply by being a successful trainee Career in a different way to the others.

I watch from afar, pacing around the room as I watch the girls train in the warm room, now possibly around twenty-three degrees Celsius, and humid. They've all worked up a sweat within the first ten minutes, and I'm glad to see them putting effort into the new type of training session. Most of the seventeen-year-olds work together on the archery station, where Paige is also based. Coral and Katherine are together, sparring using training knives and axes. Ariel is lifting weights. Brooke, however, stands alone on the far side of the room from most of the other girls, a spear in her hands, ready to throw towards the targets.

_Perfect._

I walk towards her, stopping five metres behind her, still unnoticed, my hand reaching to the short knife that I always keep tucked into the thin belt I wear with my training gear. I watch as she leans back, the spear gripped firmly in her hand, before transferring her body weight excellently to give the spear as much force as she can muster from her small body as it goes sailing towards the centre of the target. I must admit, I'm impressed by her ability. Still, I slowly pull the knife from my belt, turning it over and over again in my hands as I wait for my moment.

An important part of training a Career, especially when training them mentally for the Games, is to remind trainees to remain alert at all times, and to expect the unexpected. Such lessons cannot be taught in a straight-forward manner (well, you can't tell somebody you're going to surprise them and then do it), so I often have to fall back on unorthodox methods of teaching.

Brooke walks away from her throwing position towards the stand holding the spears, and as she leans over to collect a second spear, I notice my time to strike.

"AMBUSH!" I shout as I dart the last five metres to Brooke, my knife ready to strike her. She jumps at first, but manages to grab a spear and swing it round to face me, blocking my lunge and knocking the knife from my hands before prodding me in the stomach with the tip of her spear.

"I win," she grins at me.

"Very good," I say, noticing the pride she has taken in fending off my stealthy attack. I've been picking on two or three girls a week at random for stealthy attacks, trying to get them to stay on the lookout even when they're not expecting an attack. So far, only Paige has managed to fend me off and get in an attack of her own on me, and now Brooke. I can actually see Paige glaring at her, clearly not pleased about being matched. Coral doesn't seem to be acting all too friendly towards her either, although she rarely seems to be friendly with anyone. Still, I'm optimistic that things will improve as the year goes on. There is plenty of time for the girls to get used to the strategies and mentalities that they will need to adopt in order to succeed in the Hunger Games.

* * *

The rest of the morning session passes without incident, and my afternoon session is with the stage two boys, as I'm covering one of Georgie's sessions, as she's ill. The group are working on archery, and although it isn't my strong point, I know enough of the technique to be able to demonstrate to the boys what they need to do when they need help, and generally the session passes with little stress. The atmosphere is so much more relaxed; less pressure to succeed placed on the boys, and less of a competitive edge between them. All is good in the afternoon.

By late evening, I retire to my place in the victors' quarters opposite the main dorms, eating alone and heading downstairs to the weapons room for a couple of hours of fun before bed, firing rifles at the targets to improve my aim. Harrow was down here yesterday, and he showed me up when we competed against each other. I know he's had decades of practice compared to my four weeks, but I'm still hoping to improve enough to give him a run for his money in the near future.

I go to bed late evening, but I find myself awoken far before dawn, startled out of my sleep by a rattling sound coming from outside. Still feeling lethargic, I lazily walk over to the bedroom window, pull open the curtains and look out over the field behind the Training Centre. I notice silhouettes up and about, running between the dorms and the main Training Centre. Muffled through the panes of glass in the window, I can hear raised voices being carried across the field. Something seems to be going on in the middle of the night over at the main building. I hear the rattling sound again, and notice two boys around my age below me, hammering on the door to the house, with a sense of urgency that finally gets me moving.

Hurriedly I slip on a shirt and some trousers, take the stairs three at a time, yank open the latch on the door and walk out into the night to find Mako and Kaden, a pair of strong, athletic young men in stage four of their training, currently working with Julian. Somehow I feel calmer for a moment, knowing that if something is going on, these two old hands around the Centre must have a good idea what to do in any situation, but then realise how serious whatever's going on must be if they've bothered to wake me up. What makes things worse is the panicked look in their eyes and their laboured breath from having come to meet me, the only sound I can hear over the shouts and screams drifting across the dark field towards us. These two are two of the most calm and sensible people I know.

"What's happened?" I ask them, sounding a little more forceful than I probably should. I'm just desperate to know what's going on.

"There's been a fight over at the Training Centre," Kaden tells me frantically. "Not sure who's gotten involved, but it seemed serious by the time I got there."

"I'm not sure," Mako begins nervously, scratching at the back of his head as he speaks. "I mean, we were a long way back and all, there were a fair few kids milling around in the way..."

"What?" I demand.

"Well, it seemed like there was a fair bit of blood."

I curse under my breath, setting off across the field. "Tell me more as we walk," I tell them, as Kaden and Mako jog to keep up with me. "Who's actually involved?"

"Some girls," Kaden says. "Couldn't tell who from where we were stood. We tried to get a way through to help whoever it was but nothing was working, so we came to grab you instead."

"Right, I suppose the first thing we'd better do is calm down whoever it is that's gotten involved," I say. "How did they get in?"

"Beats me," Kaden says. "Trust me when I say that I've been around here long enough to know all the secret ways in and out of the Centre, and last I checked they'd all been locked up." Despite the situation, I manage a small laugh at that.

However, when we get to the back entrance into the Training Centre, it's suddenly clear how the girls managed to get in so easily; the wood and glass doors have been broken and pulled from their hinges. Still, I'd like to know how they got the tools that let them do that level of damage. Walking through into the dimly-lit hallway (the girls clearly neglected to turn on the lights), it is easy to know where the trouble is. For a start, there is a constant stream of younger trainees up and about in the night, milling around, seemingly unsure what to do. Some of the younger girls look on with startled expressions and tears in their eyes. Some of the younger boys huddle in corners, talking animatedly and making wild gestures as they each recount their own version of whatever's actually happened here. Most of the kids over the age of fifteen appear quiet and sullen, as though they are trying to give everyone some space.

"Right then everyone, back to bed!" I call out over the crowds, attempting to clear a path through to the scene, which must be in gym seven, as it's the only room in the whole building that actually has the lights on. I attempt to make room several times, but quickly realise that nobody is actually going to listen; they are all too excited after the incident. There is a strange energy in the corridors, fuelled by a mutual curiosity to find out about the night's strange events. The same curiosity that I have, only mixed in with a feeling of dread; _who could possibly be hurt?_

Mako stops in the hallway to attend to a couple of scared girls hiding in a corner, on the edge of tears. Kaden continues to the gym with me, glad when the kids finally realise I'm here to help, not to lecture them about being up after hours. I genuinely couldn't care less if everyone is up and about now, as long as they don't get in my way.

I round the corner into the gym with Kaden, shielding my eyes for a moment as I struggle to get used to the bright conditions. There must be thirty or forty kids gathered in the centre of the room, huddled over a limp figure on the floor. I feel my heart rate go through the roof as I instinctively fear the worst, telling everyone to make room for me to attend to the injured. Everyone starts to shuffle away from the girl on the floor, but they only really move anywhere once Kaden barks out the order for them to give me space. Being one of the oldest and most experienced trainees, Kaden has the others' respect even more than I do. With the way ahead of me now clear, I dash to the fallen girl, and only then can I see who it is.

It's Ariel.

She's lying on the floor, motionless, facing away from me, her red hair sprawled out in a mess around her head, her body curled around a puncture wound in her stomach, her blood soaking into the wooden floor around her. Everyone around her has moved back apart from Katherine, who I find kneeling over Ariel as I approach, a calm focus upon her face as she uses a strip of fabric from her own shirt to form a compression bandage, trying to find a way to reduce the blood flow. I'm sure to an extent that she's actually helping, but Ariel still needs better medical attention than a seventeen-year-old girl who's trained to harm, not heal. Looking down at the drying blood that coats Katherine's forearms, I realise that her quick thinking might just have been enough to save Ariel's life.

Thank God for girls like her.

Looking down at the scene at my feet, I'm suddenly aware that this situation is completely beyond my control. I have no way of helping her myself, and she needs medical attention. We do have a doctor here in District 4, well used to dealing with heavy injuries sustained by fishermen while out at work. The fishing industry is dangerous, after all. However, they're based down in the Docklands, over a mile from the Training Centre. Oh, and there's the small complication that is about three in the morning. There really isn't any time to lose.

"Have you sent anyone into town for the doctor?" I ask Katherine hurriedly.

"I sent one of the younger girls, Gabriella Lewis," she says without even looking up from Ariel's wounds. "Although I don't know if she'd have made it there by now." _Well, at least that's something_, I think. Still, we should send back up. We need someone who can get there fast. I already know who my first choice is, and thankfully they're in the room with me.

"Kaden!" I call over to the eighteen-year-old boy attempting to control the crowds who are craning to get a view at Ariel. Among them I spot Brooke, visibly distraught and trying to get closer to her friend. Kaden looks back at me for a moment, unsure of what I want. "Leave them for now," I say. "I'll deal with them later. Run into town and find Dr Pearce, we need someone up here quick."

Kaden gives me a rough salute; an almost jokey signal of agreement that forces a smirk from me, despite the situation. "I'm on it," he says to me, and then he is gone.

Turning back to the room, I know that there is little I can do to help Ariel personally, and that my time would be better spent sorting out the chaos that the incident has caused. And for that matter, finding out what's actually happened. I whisper my thanks for her help to Katherine as I pass her, meeting the group of kids who have stayed around, either too curious or too concerned to leave. Rather than talk to them all immediately, I call one of them out who I believe I can trust for information.

"Brooke," I say, talking to the nervous girl who's shaking in a way I've never seen before. Genuinely scared. "Oh, come here," I say, feeling sorry for the girl for a moment, drawing her into a comforting embrace, feeling sick with anger as she sobs into my shoulder. Giving her some space once again, I start asking questions.

"What happened?"

"I don't really know," she says. "There was some sort of incident over in the dorms - I don't know what, I wasn't awake - and by the time I'd gotten up to see what was going on, someone was fighting Ariel until they dragged her out across the grass and over here." She speaks quietly, with far less presence than I've grown used to from her. "The crowds were thick, everyone got worked up and I lost track of her. By the time I got in here, she was... She was..." And then Brooke is crying again, and I know I can't ask her anything else, not in this condition. I put a comforting arm round her to try and relax her, no matter how much I want to ask her who is responsible for all this. I genuinely can't work it out.

Looking around the room, I notice several other people trying to do their bit to help/ Mako and a couple of his other friends have now arrived, and are attempting to get the crowds back to the dorms as I try to think things through again. Who would want to hurt Ariel, to possibly kill her?

Suddenly, it all makes sense.

What are we doing here in the Training Centre, after all?

_Training for the Hunger Games._

How do we get into the Hunger Games?

_Win the trials. _

How do we win the trials?

_Be better than everyone else by the time next May comes around._

But if we're not as good as everyone else, what else can we do?

_Take out the opposition._

But which one of the girls in stage four feels so strongly about competing against Ariel to want to attack her?

As the room clears with Mako escorting the younger trainees out of gym seven, leaving just a handful of people in the now quiet gym seven, I notice Paige on her own in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall, smirking with her arms crossed across her chest, looking on at the scene in the centre of the room. Could Paige be the one to attack Ariel? She certainly has enough reason to. At least, there would be enough reason in her pride-dominated mind. I have no doubt she would do everything to remain top dog. Noticing me watching her, Paige gives me a knowing look and saunters off to join the back of the group of trainees leaving the gym. The way she smiles, almost pleased, makes me feel such an extreme burst of rage, that suddenly I want to jump off my feet and tackle her to the ground, and strike her over and over again until she ends up like Ariel. And right there and then, I realise that I know this was her doing, and that I will do everything in my power to make sure that Paige suffers the consequences.

It's only when the crowds bunch together to funnel through the doorway out of the gym that I finally spot the weapon used to perform the deed, the bloody knife hanging loose in her hand, seemingly hidden from sight among the busy crowd.

In Coral's hand, that is.

* * *

**A/N: Well, that chapter certainly went on longer than expected, but I hope that you all enjoyed it anyway :)**

**If you did enjoy the chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

**P.S. I'll be hoping to get the next chapter out within the next week or so :)**


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